tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718Tue, 28 Jul 2015 17:07:23 +0000foster carefoster kidssiblingsEdmondsNantucketaginghealthy agingE-BooksSeattlefamily reunionsstatinsKenyaStarbucksWorcesteraddictioncholesterolforeclosureslongevitymarriagesimvastatinsmall business"" breast cancer"East Africa""physical labor" "stone walls" "field stone" rocksBlizzard of 2015Breast Friends ConnectionDr. Dennis BurkeHDLKindleLDLMass General HospitalMother NatureShorelineStarbucks baristasTEATauntonabandoning mothersabusive motheractive seniorsaging "healthy aging" "preventive care" "CT Scans" exercise "strength-building" "schlep system"aging longevity "social connections" "life expectancy"aging wellalcohol addictionblood flow to the brainbrain cancerbreast cancerbreast cancer survivorschemotherapydrug addictioneating controleating habitsempathyextended familyfamily funfieldstone wallsforeclosure lawforeclosure processgrandkidshealthy diethigh cholesterolhome repairice skatinglife expectancylung cancermayor of Shorelinemortgage defaultsnewspapersnotice to quitphotographyquitting smokingsnowsnowstorms Nor'easter snow Worcester "New England"stress reliefstroke recoverysuper old agesweet toothsweetsterminal illnesstoxic motherunemploymentweight loss" health" "UMass Medical School"" "cadaver dissection" "medical education" anatomy" celebrity" convicts" foster parents"Anatomy Lab"Ketzel Levine" NPR "Public Radio" layoffs unemployment jobs recession "career change" plants horticulture"TV violence""Two and a Half Men"Whittier Farms" corn farming "family farms" agriculture "farm subsidies""aging out"blood tests""body donation"body donation" anatomy"body donation" anatomy cadavers "medical students" "cadaver dissection" "UMass Medical School""bone cancer"cancer survivors""common cold" viruses "cold virus" "immune system""exercise in heat" humidity "hot weather" "heat exhaustion" humidity "heat stroke" sweating electrolytes "body fluids" "sports drinks" "body temperature" "body cooling system" "heat acclimation""gum disease" "dental health" teeth gums mouth bacteria"heart attack""heart attack" stents "coronary arteries" angioplasty "heart disease" mdct "calcium build-up""knee replacement" "artificial knees" "titaneum knees" "jane brody""medical school" "medical students""medical students"oral health" "gum disease" gums teeth bacteria "bacterial infection""prison correction officers"prison life"weight loss12 21 20121950's2013 blizzard2014 tax returns401-K65 years young70th birthday80th birthdayABC NewsAfricaAlistair CookeAlzheimer'sAmerican IdolAmherstAnn Murray PaigeAnnieApple Smart PhoneApril 1 snowstormBartlett FarmBill ClintonBlizzard of 2011Bob WoodruffBoston accentBourbon StreetBreast FriendsBruce BerkowitzCannon BeachChantixCharlie SheenChristmasDiane BisnetteDonut CafeDuctal CarcinomaE-Books in educationEast AfricaEssexFacebook promotionFairholme FundFannie MaeFlat StanleyGeorge Pollock E-booksGoodspeed Opera HouseH1N1HFCSHaystack RockHip replacementHoney Dew TV commercialHope ClinicHyannisI.R.S.IRAInternal Revenue ServiceIrish dancingJ.P. 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"CT Scansalcoholalcoholismamazon.comanatomy labancestersancestryantiviral medicineaorta dissectionartificial kneesat-risk youthbalanced lifebalanced portfoliobank auctionsbeach funbig familiesbirthday celebrationsbirthday destinationsbirthday partiesbirthday partyblizzardsbloodblood "blood tests" cholesterol diet "senior health" "healthy aging"body donationbrain cellsbrandingbreaking routinebreast cancer supportbroken lifebusiness ownerscadaver dissectioncadaverscancer fundraisingcancer treatmentcare-takingcaricaturecentenarianscerebral cortexchargemasterchild welfarecholesterol statins Zokor simvastatin "Jane Brody" LDL HDL "liver function"cholesterol statins Zokor simvastatin LDL HDLclogged arteriesclose familiesclownscobblerscoffee sellerscoffeehouse culturecollege alumnicollege drinkingcollege reunioncolon cancercomic photoscommunicationcommunity theaterconvenience storesconvictscoronary arteries" angioplasty "heart disease"angiogramcoronary heart diseasecousinscreating your own jobcreative writingdeductionsdengue feverdiabetes quitting smokingdiabetes salsalate glucose sugar blood "diabetes research" "diabetes prevention" VAdietdiet nutrition fruit vegetables mango blueberries antioxidants aging longevitydirecting a TV commercialdivorcedoctorsdopaminedouble knee replacementsdrinkingdyingdying newspapersdying wellelder happiness.elder romanceelderlyelectronic readerselectronic textbooksemergency roomemergency room careemergency room doctorsemergency room patientsend of timesentrepreneurshipevictionexerciseextending lifeextreme weatherfall foliagefamefamilyfamily birthdaysfamily businessfamily celebrationsfamily historyfamily lifefamily runionsfamily tiesfather and daughterfederal taxesfemininityfieldstonefinancial stressflu pandemicfood pricesfoster care alumnifoster parentsfoster siblingsfound familyfriends "social connections" "social networks" "social isolation" "bowling alone" "eye contact" loneliness aging longevityfun in the snowgang killingsgender identitygenealogygetting a jobgetting away from it allgood deathgood photosgrandchildrengrandparentsgrave markersgravesgravitygun violencehalloweenhandy manhappy endingshealth "health care" "health insurance" "prescription drugs" "David M. Walker" "health costs"health care costshealth doctors "health care system" "health reform" "michael moore" "atul gawande" "health insurance" "Sicko" "The New york Times" "The New Yorker"healthy lifestyleheart bypassheart diseaseheavy snowhigh medical costshigh school class of 1955high school memorieshigh school reunionshikinghome invasionhome officehomeowner rightshonoring body donorshospiceice damsice hockeyidentity theftillustrationimpulse controlimpulse eatinginfluenzainvestingjail timejob lossjob searchjobsjoint replacementjoint replacement rehabjournalismjuvenile detentionjuvenile prisonkenya obama Odinga Africa kisumu luo kikuyu "East Africa"knee replacementknifingslakeside livinglate-life divorcelate-life marriagelayoffslife spanliquorliquor storesliver functionliving with breast cancerloan modificationlocal businesseslongevity "social connections" "life expectancy" "healthy lifestyle"loss of legslost familieslost familylung diseasemain streetsmajor snow stormsmajor snowstormsmaking a TV admalariamanaging moneymarket timingmarriage at homemasculinitymaximum security prisonmedical billsmedical industrial complexmedical miraclesmedical studentsmetastatic cancermilestone birthdaysminimizing taxesmorbid narcissismmortalitymortgage modificationmortgage servicersmurdersmuscle-buildingmusicalsnewspaper shops.newsstandsnicotinenicotine addictionnonprofit hospitalsnor'easternutritionobama Odinga Africa kisumu luo kikuyu "East Africa"obesityobituaryoff the beaten trackold ageold and healthyold photosolder pregnancyoncologyoverseas teachingpain "chronic pain" "ideopathic pain" "undiagnosed pain" "pain treatment"party planningpeaceful deathpensionspersonal growthphoto apsphoto editingphoto shootsphotography showsphotosphysical exercisephysical laborphysical therapypink tipsplaqueplaying in the snowpneumoniapoetrypoetry from lifepolice disability pensionpollock familypower outagepower outage.preventive careprice of fameprimary careprisonprotestsraspberriesreal-life theatrereality showsrelationshipsrental apartmentsrestaurantsretirementreunited familiesroof rakingroof shovelingroof snowscam artistsscammersseasonal fluself discoveryself employmentself fulfillmentsenior lovesenior romancesenior sexualitysenior tennisseparationserial killerssexualityshoesshootingshoveling snowsitcomssleep "drowsy driving" naps "sleep deprivation"small business ownerssmart moneysmokingsmoking harmsnow emergenciessnow on roofssnow rakessnow removalsnow shovelingsnowiest city in the U.S.snowstorm recoverysnowstormssocial workstabbingstage 4 colon cancerstate wardsstock marketstore theftstreet crimestressstrokestroke rehabsuccessful lifesummary processsurviving cancersurviving foster caretax codetax scamstaxpayer rightstennisthalamic ischemic strokethalamusthe fiftiesthe healthy oldtheatretobaccotornadoestotal knee replacementtourismtransgenderstrue loveup from foster careviolencewalking in the snowwall buildingweather forecastingweather systemswhaleswhalingwinning over cancer.winter sportswinter wonderlandworking for yourselfwritingwriting from lifePatient's ProgressOne patient's progress on the road to age 120. He lives in an antique biochemical machine, model 1938. He has a one in two billion chance of reaching age 120, but doesn't dwell on these odds. Human longevity, from one patient's point of view as he lives it with excursions into life. He reserves the right to go off on tangents that may have a remote connection to health and longevity. After all, what's a guy to do with 50 years on his hands? E-mail: pollock.george@gmail.com.http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)Blogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-3767208331149149244Tue, 28 Jul 2015 16:58:00 +00002015-07-28T13:07:23.949-04:00Dr. Dennis BurkeHip replacementjoint replacementjoint replacement rehabknee replacementMass General Hospitalphysical therapyHip Replacement: A Storied Surgeon Does It All His Way -- With Remarkable Results.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Twelve years ago with both knees destroyed from years of ice hockey, I was creeping around like an old man. It looked like I was finished with my physically extreme life, such as playing tennis, building stone walls, and walking for miles around strange new residential neighborhoods (and not once arrested).<br /><br />But then I saw players who had total knee or hip replacements running around the tennis courts on metal knees, with no pain. They played just like before -- and even better. I asked around and the name of the same surgeon kept coming up, Dr. Dennis Burke at Mass General in Boston. <br /><br />I promptly contacted Dr. Burke, but because he was in great demand, I had to wait many weeks for an appointment. Finally, I got to see him and he eventually replaced both of my knees, though separately. He said that replacing both at once increases the risk unnecessarily.<br /><br />I have been running around the tennis court on those knees for 12 years and they are still going strong.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When Dr. Burke recently looked at x-rays of my titanium knees, he had only one word, "beautiful." <br /><br />So when the pain in my left hip got worse and worse, and I was limping around and had to stop playing tennis, it was naturally back to Dr. Burke. By now we had come to know each other, joking and kidding around. <br /><br />When he entered the exam room, we greeted each other with a hearty handshake and big smiles. I put on a serious face and said, "You sure you're not too old to be doing this? How old are you anyway?"<br /><br />Without missing a beat, he replied, "62."<br /><br />"Kind of old, but I guess that's okay."<br /><br />He smiled.&nbsp; <br /><br />This is Dr. Burke, a people doctor like no other. But you don't need to take my word for it. Here is how the Orthopedic Journal at Harvard Medical describes him:<br /><br />"Engaging charm."<br /><br />"Leaves a patient feeling as if Dennis has just one patient in the world, you."<br /><br />"If human effort and skill can make the operation succeed, this is the guy who can do it."<br /><br />"His intelligence is exceeded only by his ingenuity."<br /><br />"What more could you ask?" <br /><br />To read&nbsp; more, click <a href="http://www.orthojournalhms.org/volume7/dedication.htm">here.</a><br /><br />Without a doubt, when I see Dr. Burke I know he is thinking of me and only me. He sat down at his computer and pulled up the x-ray of my left hip. "Bone on bone, no cartilage," he said. The two of us are pictured below, clearly friends, with the x-ray behind us.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O0gaAJR4R98/VbJsCLcoBKI/AAAAAAAAVi8/qZ5GCwwwO8o/s1600/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O0gaAJR4R98/VbJsCLcoBKI/AAAAAAAAVi8/qZ5GCwwwO8o/s320/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />"It needs to be replaced?"<br /><br />He nodded. "But your decision."<br /><br />"No brainer," I said in one second. "Let's do it."<br /><br />With Dr. Burke being in huge demand, it was weeks before I could get an appointment for the surgery.&nbsp; But that day eventually came this past June 8. In this photo, taken by my wife Barbara, Dr. Burke checks my hip and initials it before we go into the operating room.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4JsDVCKSn9g/VbJysFoP11I/AAAAAAAAVjY/l8MlPuanx70/s1600/FullSizeRender-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4JsDVCKSn9g/VbJysFoP11I/AAAAAAAAVjY/l8MlPuanx70/s320/FullSizeRender-8.jpg" width="272" /></a></div>I have to tell you something else about Dr. Burke. In addition to being a friendly and easygoing guy, he is also a renowned surgeon with a national reputation.<br /><br />He is Secretary of State John Kerry's surgeon. In fact, John Kerry was in the hospital the same time I was, but neither Dr. Burke nor I mentioned his name.<br /><br />How did I know John Kerry was at Mass General? I heard his name whispered in the hallways. I also noticed the gaggle of Secret Service agents outside. Naturally, I had to take a photo of them, below. They could have been a little less obvious, don't you think?<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T3I_4klRgNs/VbJzzabs1XI/AAAAAAAAVjg/Cy2eP49aFmQ/s1600/FullSizeRender-001.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T3I_4klRgNs/VbJzzabs1XI/AAAAAAAAVjg/Cy2eP49aFmQ/s1600/FullSizeRender-001.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T3I_4klRgNs/VbJzzabs1XI/AAAAAAAAVjg/Cy2eP49aFmQ/s320/FullSizeRender-001.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>When I woke up after the surgery, I asked Dr. Burke if he would have a photo taken of me with the operating room group. "Sure," he said. He took out his phone and snapped the picture. "What's your email address?" he asked. I gave it to him. He tapped his phone and said, "Sent."<br /><br />Here is that photo taken by Dr. Burke in the recovery room immediately after my hip replacement surgery.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PZcuB7DveK8/VbJ4QZIJG3I/AAAAAAAAVjs/1pcr8BJvSqI/s1600/IMG_1652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PZcuB7DveK8/VbJ4QZIJG3I/AAAAAAAAVjs/1pcr8BJvSqI/s320/IMG_1652.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />Have you ever heard of a photo like this taken by a surgeon immediately after he had performed major surgery? Neither have I. But then again, there is good reason. It takes a ... er... <i>different</i> patient like me to think of it immediately after waking up from a major operation and a <i>one-of-a-kind</i> surgeon like Dr. Dennis Burke willing to actually take the picture. <br /><br />But Dr. Burke goes even more off the beaten track. Before the surgery, I mentioned to Dr. Burke that I was interested in seeing what my hip replacement surgery actually looked like. I asked him, "Do you think you could have a video taken of the surgery?"<br /><br />"Sure," he said.<br /><br />I thought he was putting me on. Yet after he signed off on me to leave the hospital after three days and we were saying goodbye, he handed me two disks.<br /><br />"Videos of the surgery," he said.<br /><br />I was blown away. "Thank you, thank you," I said.<br /><br />"My pleasure, " Dr. Burke said.<br /><br />I said goodbye to my main nurse at Mass General who had a non-stop smile as she attended to my every need. She is pictured below with that great smile of hers.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lb8lLV1Eerg/VbP2vNzEDeI/AAAAAAAAVkE/PfWvvMtxCeQ/s1600/FullSizeRender-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lb8lLV1Eerg/VbP2vNzEDeI/AAAAAAAAVkE/PfWvvMtxCeQ/s200/FullSizeRender-10.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>I was sent home in the care of my good wife Barbara who was at my bedside daily during my hospital stay. Now she would be my amazing, nonstop, caretaker for the next several weeks.<br /><br />I don't know what I would have done without you, dear! <br /><br />Unexpectedly, the next several days were sheer hell for both of us with two trips to the emergency room at UMass Memorial in Worcester. The first was from a piercing headache with a level of pain that I had never experienced in my long life, followed by another headache two days later.<br /><br />Emergency room doctors gave me every kind of test in the book and still could not figure out the cause, though they ruled out stroke and blood clot. They gave me a couple of&nbsp; pain meds through the IV and sent me home.<br /><br />On my second trip to the ER in two days, one doctor asked if I was a coffee drinker. I said I was, but had not been drinking coffee lately. He told me about his headaches when he didn't get enough caffeine. So he gave me, believe it or not, a caffeine pill. <br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TZAfOIg4N5Q/VbP8F0nneAI/AAAAAAAAVkY/5FOHJLg9Ok4/s1600/FullSizeRender-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TZAfOIg4N5Q/VbP8F0nneAI/AAAAAAAAVkY/5FOHJLg9Ok4/s200/FullSizeRender-11.jpg" width="181" /></a><br /><br />The two trips to the emergency room were probably from a lack of sleep from going to the bathroom every thirty or forty minutes due to an aggravated prostate problem, not eating much, taking pain meds and difficulty with bowel movements. Here I am at right in the emergency room, waiting for the pain meds to kick in, trying to ignore the pain.<br /><br />After the second ER visit, doctors sent me home with five different prescriptions for headache pain and bowel problems. My primary care doctor then suggested Flomax for the prostate problem.<br /><br />After several days of misery, I began sleeping better and spending less time on the toilet. And soon, with physical therapy and working out on my own and Barbara managing medications, I began to feel much better.<br /><br />Barbara and I would have coffee at Panera in Shrewsbury. I would walk up and down with my walker. When people saw me with the walker, they rushed to get out of the way and open doors for me. I have to be honest with you, I kind of liked all the notice and deference.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rwjRSs9usYQ/VbQGO_67XKI/AAAAAAAAVkw/H8qerg_Dar4/s1600/FullSizeRender-14.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rwjRSs9usYQ/VbQGO_67XKI/AAAAAAAAVkw/H8qerg_Dar4/s320/FullSizeRender-14.jpg" width="198" /></a><br />Before the hip replacement, I was limping, walking bent over and in pain. Now I was standing and walking straight up, going from two&nbsp; crutches to only one, having dumped the other one. I felt a couple of inches taller.<br /><br />Six weeks after the surgery, on July 21, I had my follow-up appointment with Dr. Burke. With both of us looking at the x-rays of my new hip, Dr. Burke pronounced everything as it should be. "Could I have a copy of this x-ray?" I asked.<br /><br />"Sure," he said and set up his computer and asked my wife Barbara to type in my e-mail and hit send. <br /><br />She did.<br /><br />And now ladies and gentlemen, the moment you no doubt have been waiting for: a chance to see my new hip, in the x-ray Dr. Burke had Barbara e-mail me. Drum roll please ... drum roll ... and here it is:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DrCPrpfN7RE/VbQEV5SJ-oI/AAAAAAAAVkk/T_pREm_KeEw/s1600/pollock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DrCPrpfN7RE/VbQEV5SJ-oI/AAAAAAAAVkk/T_pREm_KeEw/s320/pollock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Look at that left hip. Beautiful, don't you think?<br /><br />Next came exercising at home, and then out-patient therapy three times weekly with professional therapists at Greendale Physical Therapy in Worcester. But I was still limping a little and not progressing as fast as I had hoped. Besides the three sessions a week at Greendale I was also working out twice a day the other four days and also taking thirty minute walks.<br /><br />When I told my physical therapist Kim at Greendale how much I was working out at home, she gave me a stern look. She let me know in no uncertain terms that I was not superman and that I could be hurting myself. She said I "should back off on the exercise and see if that helps."<br /><br />I did. The recovery sped up. And I owe that to Kim who put me through new and more challenging exercises as I grew stronger. Thank you, Kim, for putting me in my place!<br /><br />I now expect to be back on the tennis court in late September or early October. "You should be good for doubles then," Dr. Burke said. Already my crutches and walker are distant memories.<br /><br />Organized by my good friend Rich Pyle, I recently got together for lunch with some of my tennis friends at the Nu Cafe in Worcester. Below is a photo of the group, with me standing and drawing attention to myself as usual. Rich is at my left elbow, Marty is beside him, Sam is far left, and Jim is at my right elbow. (I use my elbows to keep them in line.)<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8iaxctUsq5c/VbQOKnsLyOI/AAAAAAAAVlA/E7wOOCXuzbs/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8iaxctUsq5c/VbQOKnsLyOI/AAAAAAAAVlA/E7wOOCXuzbs/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />So guys, sorry to tell you this, but I'm coming back!<br /><br /><br />P.S.&nbsp; Later at home, my wife Barbara and I sat down and watched the video of my hip replacement. We were stunned at what we saw: the sliced hip opening; Dr. Burke's hands moving swiftly clearing flesh with one delicate small instrument after another; retrieving and holding my socket in his hand; and, most amazing of all, pounding my new socket into place with a hammer. Unbelievable!<br /><br />&nbsp;<b>&nbsp;</b><br /><br /><br /><b>NOTE:&nbsp; </b>My latest novel<i> is Something Tells Her.&nbsp;</i> Go to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a> <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s320/2014-01-06" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring,&nbsp; and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, she runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; <br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><b>Other E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b></div><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life.&nbsp;</span></div><div id="pagetitle"></div><div id="pagetitle"></div><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/VgYuWrzkraY" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/VgYuWrzkraY/hip-replacement-storied-surgeon-does-it.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2015/07/hip-replacement-storied-surgeon-does-it.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-776601209779382697Mon, 16 Mar 2015 19:23:00 +00002015-03-16T15:34:19.398-04:002014 tax returnsidentity thefttax scamsTax Time, Scam Time: Thieves Steal Billions Using Taxpayer Identities.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I know. They stole my identity.<br /><br />Using Turbo Tax, a leading tax service with millions of customers, thieves filed federal and Massachusetts tax returns under the name of George Pollock -- me -- with my address, social security number, email, and replicating details from my 2013 tax return.&nbsp; <br /><br />How did I find out?&nbsp; Easy.&nbsp; One day when I was just beginning to think about getting my taxes done, I got an e-mail from Turbo Tax thanking me for using them to file my taxes. OMG! I'm being scammed! I went immediately into panic mode.<br /><br />I called Turbo Tax. I tried and tried and tried but couldn't get a human being. I replied to their e-mail saying that I "did not file with Turbo Tax and that I am a victim of identity theft and fraud." I demanded that they immediately step in to stop the scam or "you will hear from my attorney."<br /><br />I got no reply and still have not.<br /><br />I notified my longtime tax preparer. Fully understanding the seriousness, he urged me to get my tax info to him as fast as possible and he would give it top priority. Working nonstop for two days, hardly sleeping, I got my tax return info together and sent it priority to him. Amazingly, he got it filed, Massachusetts and federal, practically in hours.<br /><br />I called the IRS and got a recording saying they are too busy during tax season to accept calls.&nbsp; I started filling out an IRS form reporting the scam but found it very long and complicated. It also asked for personal and tax info that made me nervous putting online. I didn't do it. <br /><br />I called the Federal Trade Commission and, to my great surprise and relief, got a human being.&nbsp; It was a no-nonsense woman who patiently and professionally took all the necessary information.&nbsp; She said that all appropriate state and federal agencies would be alerted. At her suggestion, I also placed a credit freeze on my credit card and and a fraud alert with credit reporting companies.<br /><br />She also said that it's a good idea to alert local officials and that the best way to do that was through the police department.&nbsp; So I went down to the Worcester police department and reported the scam.&nbsp; I was told that an officer would come to our home the next day to take my info.<br /><br />Sure enough, the next morning&nbsp; a police cruiser pulled up in front of our home.&nbsp; A uniformed officer got out, walked up to our front door, and rang the bell.&nbsp; I opened the door and let him in.&nbsp; As I did, I imagined&nbsp; the word sure to go around the close-knit neighborhood: <br /><br /><i>The old nutcake is in trouble with the cops.&nbsp; Anyone know what he did?</i><br /><br />I led the officer downstairs to my office, which I call my mancave, where he took my information, writing it all down.&nbsp; He was friendly, easy to talk to, and spoke with a strong Spanish accent.<br /><br />When he was finished and we began walking out, I put my hand on his shoulder. With a serious face, I said, "You're not an illegal immigrant, I hope?"<br /><br />We locked eyes. Seeing right through me, the officer smiled. "No."<br /><br />&nbsp;"Oh good, I don't have to report you."<br /><br />The officer chuckled.&nbsp; I saw him out the front door with a "Thank you officer" and firm handshake.&nbsp; <br /><br />Feeling that I had done all that I could, I was able to relax -- until a few days later I received the following email from Turbo Tax:<br /><br /><br /><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 50%px;"><tbody><tr><td align="left" style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 22px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 27px; padding-bottom: 5px;">Where's My Refund? How to Check Your Refund Status</td> </tr><tr> <td align="left" style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px; padding-bottom: 15px;"><div>Now that you've filed your tax return, you may be <br />wondering, "Where's My Refund?" Learn what<br />happens after you e-file your tax return and <br />how to check the status of your refund.</div></td> </tr><tr> <td align="left" valign="top"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"> <tbody><tr> <td width="10"><img class="CToWUd" height="37" src="https://ci5.googleusercontent.com/proxy/NJ16COKFoWYikHqoYQPWot86QTBihEWelkRJps8Uj-W0fXuOXAYfpRxuk7tVQDN2EpGj96OEXz3CkLTwt5BbUxpDFOrQkmgWwOPCkqQ4KrOW70Xews8qDOJ23tCAW-IKzp-aTGX3_jz1kuRdDce_uXrw8UuRge00ST_3_xTqAFAm3hNwif9jF9307_C8ndlEhOEq567yBq24tXA=s0-d-e1-ft#http://responsys.hs.llnwd.net/i2/responsysimages/inttax/contentlibrary/2015/02/201502_31580/31580_001_TTO/images/btn_orange_left.gif" style="border: 0; display: block;" width="20" /></td> <td align="center" bgcolor="#ff8909"><a href="https://e.turbotax.intuit.com/pub/cc?_ri_=X0Gzc2X%3DWQpglLjHJlTQGueMe8EM1Pzd1jzfvn00PzeUezfygzfbbzfNgRsEduA4u9H9JEVXtpKX%3DSRTRRCAST&amp;_ei_=EolaGGF4SNMvxFF7KucKuWPORgkvwSTKQYS6Y6_nFAJkpPGG2CvJIxT4P0hkaA2DgH37h63C0mClMzg9s9HXlj4jQVJ-f0." style="color: white; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Find out more</a></td> <td width="10"><img class="CToWUd" height="37" src="https://ci6.googleusercontent.com/proxy/EnjUqnhBTdUp1IVCh7qGo2YWEyLPwSzhp_aQB-2JXE94c0IkM0w6dp5VFTKSbm5WWapVGK_zbQpA_A4QtF-fE7kXaIWcBgkdd0MYkswnCeaNSZdvlVTRF54l-W2JFZ-IU8YRkBOk_4Sr2LnEJIJqTlDLVS4ZcMSo0MI8BuAbzZ6PXMtTJzDEMDHyIa5SbcW1tfgUoA40FvGlP1do=s0-d-e1-ft#http://responsys.hs.llnwd.net/i2/responsysimages/inttax/contentlibrary/2015/02/201502_31580/31580_001_TTO/images/btn_orange_right.gif" style="border: 0; display: block;" width="20" /></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I shot Turbo Tax the following:<br /><br />NOTICE: I have NOT filed an income tax form through Turbo Tax!&nbsp; Any form you have using my name, address,&nbsp; social security number, and e-mail address is identity theft and fraud.&nbsp; I notified you of this when I got the first notice from Turbo Tax.&nbsp; I have now notified local and state authorities and am filing a fraud report with the IRS.&nbsp; Meanwhile my legitimate state and federal forms are now being filed by my legitimate income tax provider.&nbsp; A reply would be professional and appreciated.<br /><br />I got no reply from Turbo Tax.&nbsp; Again, I tried to talk to a human being at the company.&nbsp; Couldn't.<br /><br />A week or so later, the next email from Turbo Tax was this: <br /><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>Dear george pollock,</b></span> <br /><br /><img align="left" alt="Your Tax Return Status: Federal Return Rejected" height="112" hspace="30" src="https://ci3.googleusercontent.com/proxy/3icVEI7beXRazrGy0CXocCF0lTzWm2bgNBXNTEt8wlnliiP8qS3y_pfoIK8cZTxmdBNKnMv2_0AyM5VJq1WlPu_QOxhKVxcFsp-ULUGVy18DMKb7cYaqrVAKEXg=s0-d-e1-ft#https://images.turbotax.intuit.com/images/email/efilestatus/return.gif" vspace="10" width="113" /> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>We want to make sure you file your taxes on time</b>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Earlier this year, <b>your tax return was rejected,</b> and we've noticed you haven't re-filed it yet.<br /> A rejected return means the return has not been filed with the government. If you've already fixed your return, re-filed and been accepted, or filed by mail, you can ignore this notice. <br /> If you have not fixed your rejected return, you have only until <b>April 20, 2015</b> to fix and e-file it again.<br /><br /><img alt="intuit(R) TurboTax(R)" class="CToWUd" height="60" src="https://ci4.googleusercontent.com/proxy/TMnWR2-VBOd5gaHKL6CJOSB5b2KxHzPgcTlub6nppCw62PSruZl8u4ad0VVwF3N778d0Y84wrMlnJPUQYi4rzQ-HkdQV_PkRna-JeGTFHeejvG3aedi3sj1g1STB3BhRQWsGhXTXq1l7IVuVWTl0Ujzky_FA_XrQ5vE48-KbJQ1Ail4wG_MmrJ3iaDXWSLo=s0-d-e1-ft#http://responsys.hs.llnwd.net/i2/responsysimages/inttax/contentlibrary/2015/02/201502_31580/31580_001_TTO/images/logo.gif" style="border: 0; display: block;" width="176" /><br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><div><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">This was great news.&nbsp; The scammer's return in my name had been rejected! Yippee!&nbsp;</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">Then I got an email from my tax preparer telling me that my Massachusetts and Federal returns had been accepted.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">Then I quickly got substantial Massachusetts and Federal tax refunds. The checks are deposited.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">Sorry scammers.&nbsp; You lost!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">So long and keep moving. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">For More Info</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">Thousands of other taxpayers won't be so lucky.&nbsp; With millions of taxpayers working to submit their returns before the April 15 deadline, the IRS is seeing many cases of identity theft and fraud, according to Timothy Camus, Treasury Inspector General for Tax Administration. Based on my own experience, if you find yourself the victim of identity fraud, you should contact a human being at the Federal Trade Commission, place a fraud alert with credit reporting companies, and place a credit freeze on your credit card. The FTC <a href="https://www.ftccomplaintassistant.gov/#crnt&amp;panel1-1">website</a> will guide you. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">Testifying before the U.S. Senate Finance Committee chaired by Sen. Orrin Hatch, R. Utah, Secretary Camus said that the IRS has identified more than 517,000 suspicious returns and blocked $3.1 billion in fraudulent returns, including some from overseas perpetrators. Sen. Hatch said that the scammers got away with $5.8 billion in 2013, which was a 37% increase in one year. It could be more for 2014 said Sen. Hatch, which was why he was holding hearings on the issue and what can be done.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">Narrowly avoiding being an identity theft victim, myself, I watched and listened to every word of the hearings on CNN. I&nbsp; videoed key testimony by Timothy Camus, below, and also by John Valentine, Utah Tax Commissioner.&nbsp; You can watch these these short videos on&nbsp; <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/georgepollock111?feature=mhee">You Tube. </a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-igR44BrDXpQ/VQY7BKyffzI/AAAAAAAAVOw/bEkc7o40g4E/s1600/IMG_1164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-igR44BrDXpQ/VQY7BKyffzI/AAAAAAAAVOw/bEkc7o40g4E/s1600/IMG_1164.JPG" height="182" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span lang="0" style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">&nbsp;</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><b>NOTE:&nbsp; </b>Read my latest novel<i>, Something Tells Her, </i>for<i> FREE </i>on Kindle Unlimited. Go to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a> <br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s320/2014-01-06" height="320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring,&nbsp; and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, she runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; <br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><b>Other E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b></div><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">"Something Tells Her"</a> is the story of a 12 year old foster girl who runs away from her latest abusive foster home.&nbsp; How on earth is she going to survive? Well, she has ... something. What?</span></div><div id="pagetitle"></div><div id="pagetitle"></div></div></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/5nd803MQFBM" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/5nd803MQFBM/tax-time-scam-time-thieves-steal.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2015/03/tax-time-scam-time-thieves-steal.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-9110688477038547047Fri, 20 Feb 2015 03:50:00 +00002015-02-28T10:51:52.698-05:00Blizzard of 2015extreme weatherroof rakingroof shovelingsnowiest city in the U.S.Blizzard of 2015: A Lifelong Snowstorm Playboy Is Forced to Act Like a Grown-up.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">All of my long life, snow has meant great natural beauty and fun in a winter wonderland: time off from school or work, making a snowman or two, playing in the snow,&nbsp; trudging around in it, and soaking it all up. My love for snowstorms has kept me a kid at heart in New England winters.<br /><br />Up to now. In the last three weeks two ferocious blizzards, serial snowstorms dumping over a hundred inches of snow, below-zero freezing cold of historic proportions, wind gusts of 50 mph with a wind-chill factor of 30 below,&nbsp; have forced me to be serious and act like an adult. An amazing thought, I know, for anyone who knows me.<br /><br />Here are couple of views&nbsp; of our place that I had to take seriously.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x1s2ZtjzEzs/VOIw5YEV3GI/AAAAAAAAVI0/It3U6tYIpm4/s1600/IMG_0893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x1s2ZtjzEzs/VOIw5YEV3GI/AAAAAAAAVI0/It3U6tYIpm4/s1600/IMG_0893.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What I saw when I opened our garage door after the latest storm.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-48VtNJ6ia-8/VOIxqISaYPI/AAAAAAAAVI8/g1FtaNGaTNQ/s1600/FullSizeRender-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-48VtNJ6ia-8/VOIxqISaYPI/AAAAAAAAVI8/g1FtaNGaTNQ/s1600/FullSizeRender-6.jpg" height="282" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The scene when I opened the door to look out at our back deck.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Barbara sent these and other photos to our daughter Misha who lives in the Seattle area.&nbsp; She texted back: "Wow!! That's a lot of snow! Today, we are going to have a picnic at the beach! LOL. Wish you were here! You might want to consider spending your winters in Seattle!"<br /><br />Then she sent us a photo of flowers she just planted in her yard, below right. "Spring is here!" she wrote. She was right. While Worcester where we live was officially the snowiest city in the entire country, the west coast, and especially Seattle, was enjoying an unseasonably&nbsp; warm, springlike weather. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3ZjERcJXOI/VOaYGvzgzUI/AAAAAAAAVKE/LqtFv1tjK4Y/s1600/IMG_1730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l3ZjERcJXOI/VOaYGvzgzUI/AAAAAAAAVKE/LqtFv1tjK4Y/s1600/IMG_1730.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div><br />Misha didn't need us to tell her about the weather we were having here in New England.&nbsp; With the story running nonstop on all national TV networks, she could hardly miss it.<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A-FtrHRc0Ts/VOaZhnD_FtI/AAAAAAAAVKQ/eqRm_Ti5Jc8/s1600/FullSizeRender-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A-FtrHRc0Ts/VOaZhnD_FtI/AAAAAAAAVKQ/eqRm_Ti5Jc8/s1600/FullSizeRender-001.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a>For three weeks, the TV networks have been a continuous graphic display and accounting of the storm's impact: the collapse of the "T," the state bus and railway system, stranding thousands of commuters; traffic stalled for two and three hours on snow-packed highways; roads blocked with mountains of snow; collapsed roofs; cars buried in snow.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lhhi34rlORg/VOaaAHtrn-I/AAAAAAAAVKY/Ml8wEOPj97M/s1600/FullSizeRender-003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lhhi34rlORg/VOaaAHtrn-I/AAAAAAAAVKY/Ml8wEOPj97M/s1600/FullSizeRender-003.jpg" height="185" width="200" /></a></div>Our New England storm even made the front page of The New York Times on Wednesday, January 28.&nbsp; Not only that, it was the lead story.&nbsp; That is saying something because the Times is an old, storied, and respected newspaper with a worldwide reach and influence. I've been addicted to it for 53 years.<br /><br />Still, as is my habit, I didn't feel any great need to take this series of powerful storms too seriously. That was for&nbsp; scaredy cats who never learned to appreciate and enjoy winter. When the first giant storm came, I just went out to have fun&nbsp; and take some photos.<br /><br />But within minutes,&nbsp; powerful wind gusts -- which I later found out had a wind chill factor of 30 degrees below zero -- stopped me cold, literally. Although I was dressed warmly with layers, hat, and gloves, my face was freezing.<br /><br />In all the years that I have been going out playing in snowstorms, that had never happened.&nbsp; I later read that wind gusts this cold on exposed skin can cause serious frostbite in ten minutes.&nbsp; If I had kept walking,&nbsp; it would have been a big mistake.<br /><br />I only got one photo, but a very interesting one, at least in my opinion.&nbsp;&nbsp; First, I noticed the American flag, proud, defiant, rising above the huge snow piles. Then, looking into my camera, I noticed a shadow against a wall of snow. With the sun out behind me, the shadow was me. I took the picture, shown below.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DtWbLZjYhRo/VOaeXpcXcOI/AAAAAAAAVKs/90mU8Ux8b_w/s1600/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DtWbLZjYhRo/VOaeXpcXcOI/AAAAAAAAVKs/90mU8Ux8b_w/s1600/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><br />Normally, I love to shovel.&nbsp; But this snow was several feet high in my driveway, on my roof, and on my back deck.&nbsp; Also, I have a bone-on-bone arthritic hip that needs replacement, which I expect will be done early in the spring.<br /><br />Lucky for me, my neighbor Tom knew of my hip problem and came over and snow blowed my front walk and driveway.&nbsp; Talk about a good neighbor!&nbsp; Thank you, Tom!<br /><br />But my roof remained piled high with snow and more and more roofs were collapsing under the weight. What happens is that snow on the roof compacts, freezes, and turns into ice -- which weighs eight times more. Eight pounds of snow becomes 64 pounds of ice, greatly increasing the chance of collapse.<br /><br />No thanks, I thought. With my hip pain moderate and manageable, I climbed up on the roof and started shoveling. I had been up there only a half hour or so when Tom came running over with a shovel.<br /><br />"What are you doing up there?" he said, clearly annoyed.<br /><br />"Look at all that snow on the roof. It's got to get off there."<br /><br />Shaking his head, Tom climbed up on the roof and we shoveled together for nearly three hours. The photo below shows Tom on my roof working away. Working nonstop, we got a huge amount of snow off the roof, enough to make me feel better.&nbsp;&nbsp; <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PTB-HuqIdiQ/VOaapDYExvI/AAAAAAAAVKg/onoVF7FLiv4/s1600/FullSizeRender-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PTB-HuqIdiQ/VOaapDYExvI/AAAAAAAAVKg/onoVF7FLiv4/s1600/FullSizeRender-5.jpg" height="200" width="193" /></a></div><br />Then more snow and more piling on the roof. With the number of collapsed roofs rising, the new snow had to get off.<br /><br />&nbsp;"Don't you go up there," Barbara ordered.<br /><br />"I won't," I said. "Don't worry."<br /><br />I lied. <br /><br />I borrowed a roof rake from another good neighbor, Gabe. Standing on a ladder leaning on the roof, I raked huge amounts of snow from the roof.&nbsp; I also got up on the roof and shoveled.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Rv7YpplitYE/VOeSW68qGxI/AAAAAAAAVLk/H_alifmLllk/s1600/FullSizeRender-004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Rv7YpplitYE/VOeSW68qGxI/AAAAAAAAVLk/H_alifmLllk/s1600/FullSizeRender-004.jpg" height="195" width="200" /></a></div>First there was the standing on the ladder. Then throwing the rake up.&nbsp; Then dragging the snow off the roof.&nbsp; It took about five hours over two days.<br /><br />Barbara caught me on the roof but didn't call me a dirty rotten liar. She was pleased the roof was done. We didn't have to worry about it falling on top of us.<br />&nbsp; <br />I think she was happy I was still alive.&nbsp; I think anyway.&nbsp; (Psst, do me a favor:&nbsp; ask her and let me know. Thanks.) Anyway she took the photo, above, of&nbsp; her liar husband.<br /><br />I have no idea why I was able to do all that work with this bad left hip and with hardly noticeable pain. But I got it done.<br /><br />Yes!<br /><br />Now I can relax.<br /><br />OMG! I just heard on the news that a new arctic front is coming this weekend.<br /><br />Ugh! The winter from Hell!<br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><b>NOTE:&nbsp; </b>Read my latest novel<i>, Something Tells Her, </i>for<i> FREE </i>on Kindle Unlimited. Go to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a> <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s320/2014-01-06" height="320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring,&nbsp; and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, she runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; <br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><b>Other E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b></div><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">"Something Tells Her"</a> is the story of a 12 year old foster girl who runs away from her latest abusive foster home.&nbsp; How on earth is she going to survive? Well, she has ... something. What?</span></div></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/hJ2hK0LbKxM" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/hJ2hK0LbKxM/an-historic-winter-onslaught-lifelong.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2015/02/an-historic-winter-onslaught-lifelong.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-8489679112038323216Fri, 30 Jan 2015 21:41:00 +00002015-01-31T13:13:09.785-05:00Blizzard of 2015major snowstormsplaying in the snowsnowstorm recoveryBlizzard of 2015: Of Course, Yours Truly Goes Out to Play in It -- and Snoop Around.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Whoa, this was one scary blizzard. It battered the Northeast with historic levels of snow and wind.&nbsp; Worcester, where I live, was hit hardest. We got 34.6 inches of snow and winds seemingly out to teach us who is boss with below below-zero, face-freezing cold.<br /><br />This is what I saw looking out out from my front portico:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6dTuMNpnwIg/VMmaPQoOZ0I/AAAAAAAAVAc/rlmCwv3PDi0/s1600/FullSizeRender-11.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6dTuMNpnwIg/VMmaPQoOZ0I/AAAAAAAAVAc/rlmCwv3PDi0/s1600/FullSizeRender-11.jpg" height="400" width="300" />&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">My poor car and shrubbery. However, when I ventured out to survey the damage, I got a couple of pleasant surprises. My two favorite rock balance sculptures were standing tall, defying those fierce winds. Without cement or tape or anything -- honest, I'm not lying -- there they were rising above all that white.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UZSMLGL65nA/VMmjtXaz9gI/AAAAAAAAVA0/G8mVXaQxTc0/s1600/FullSizeRender-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UZSMLGL65nA/VMmjtXaz9gI/AAAAAAAAVA0/G8mVXaQxTc0/s1600/FullSizeRender-1.jpg" height="320" width="266" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9fpShwanxA/VMmjtYaw-ZI/AAAAAAAAVA4/Zdk0smTaNgc/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9fpShwanxA/VMmjtYaw-ZI/AAAAAAAAVA4/Zdk0smTaNgc/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" height="275" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><br />How did they do it? Maybe they were making a statement: <i>Nice try blizzard, but we are, you know, ART. You come and go; we don't. We are for the ages.</i><br /><br />Naturally, for me, this storm was an invitation to go out and play as I did&nbsp; <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/02/big-snowstorm-time-to-be-sensible-or-to.html">last year</a> and&nbsp; year after year before that. At its height on Tuesday, I put on boots and layers of clothing&nbsp;and went out to enjoy it while sane people hunkered down in their homes watching nonstop, impending doom TV coverage.<br /><br />I pushed open my snow-packed front door and stepped onto a snow-piled front porch shown in the photo above. Wow, I thought as I waded through nearly waist-high snow on my front walk, deep! <br /><br />The wind was ferocious. It was whipping fallen snow everywhere making it difficult to see. The house directly across the street was but a hazy outline. And man was it cold! By the time I got to the street, my face was freezing.&nbsp; <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Hey, I thought, this is <i>not</i> fun. I went back into the house and hunkered down for the rest of the day.&nbsp; For me, this was history-making: the first big snowstorm that I didn't go right out and play in.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">However, the next day, I did -- and it was wonderful, with natural beauty everywhere. With no traffic except for snowplows and most people staying inside except for hardy souls here and there out shoveling. I pretty much had the streets to myself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Yes! Playtime!&nbsp; Following are photos of&nbsp; day-after-blizzard scenes that caught my eye.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CaHoW8W70LU/VMvl5SS4LUI/AAAAAAAAVBM/8oLUocayc08/s1600/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CaHoW8W70LU/VMvl5SS4LUI/AAAAAAAAVBM/8oLUocayc08/s1600/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" height="254" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">First stop, Donut Cafe, a short walk from my place. When the snow comes, the staff know they will see me, the crazy old guy. I came in expecting to see staff, such as Lisa, who have worked there for years. Instead, the staff was all new and spoke a foreign language.<br /><br />It turned out that four months before, an Albanian family had bought the place. The mom took orders while one of her sons worked the grill. Nothing stays the same. However, I did ask for and got the VIP table by the window.</td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G5B9W4mkWCM/VMvq1b8ebaI/AAAAAAAAVBc/HfVIHiFMMH8/s1600/FullSizeRender-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G5B9W4mkWCM/VMvq1b8ebaI/AAAAAAAAVBc/HfVIHiFMMH8/s1600/FullSizeRender-7.jpg" height="228" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">A guy out on a stroll? "Nice day," I said. "Yeah, great day for a walk," he replied. I wasn't the only nutcake out there. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SiCkZn5pHDY/VMvu5Lm7cAI/AAAAAAAAVBo/fYxawnhJTLc/s1600/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SiCkZn5pHDY/VMvu5Lm7cAI/AAAAAAAAVBo/fYxawnhJTLc/s1600/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" height="246" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">I came across only one woman walker.&nbsp; She happened to be walking by when I was taking a photo of this fellow I had stopped to chat with. "Can I take a photo of the two of you?" I asked her. "Sure," she said instantly.<br /><br />Above is the photo. After taking it, I said to the guy, "Look at you, having your picture taken with a pretty girl. How lucky can a guy be?" We all laughed. The guy went back to snow blowing. The pretty girl and I walked off -- er, separately. </td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The only other human beings I came across on my post-blizzard stroll were working to get out from under piles of snow. Here are photos of these folks who, unlike me, are responsible adults taking the aftermath of the great blizzard of 2015 seriously.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vuNXnsOxJlo/VMv0DuN9I2I/AAAAAAAAVB4/G0kiQuLhvGY/s1600/FullSizeRender-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vuNXnsOxJlo/VMv0DuN9I2I/AAAAAAAAVB4/G0kiQuLhvGY/s1600/FullSizeRender-13.jpg" height="320" width="245" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xGGyF05Mc-E/VMv0TEchE3I/AAAAAAAAVCA/X1zfskOL2ag/s1600/FullSizeRender-14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xGGyF05Mc-E/VMv0TEchE3I/AAAAAAAAVCA/X1zfskOL2ag/s1600/FullSizeRender-14.jpg" height="313" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-johTs7REaQI/VMv0glB7pQI/AAAAAAAAVCI/Gs0Dij59D-4/s1600/FullSizeRender-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-johTs7REaQI/VMv0glB7pQI/AAAAAAAAVCI/Gs0Dij59D-4/s1600/FullSizeRender-4.jpg" height="259" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MBHjVIkc5MI/VMv01gTIXRI/AAAAAAAAVCQ/cSERtGxtSkY/s1600/IMG_0850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MBHjVIkc5MI/VMv01gTIXRI/AAAAAAAAVCQ/cSERtGxtSkY/s1600/IMG_0850.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Is this an ominous, end-of-the-world sky or what? Well, that's what the sky looked like around <i>noontime</i> during my stroll on the day after the Great Blizzard of 2015. Did it scare moi? No way. I enjoyed every minute of my two-hour winter wonderland adventure.<br /><br />And to prove it, last and least, here is a selfie of a smirking, self-satisfied guy.&nbsp; It is my first-ever selfie. And I just know that everybody out there will be calling for more -- I wish.</td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EhcXrMwFA38/VMv3zd6IoAI/AAAAAAAAVCc/ApCjEIoHwvc/s1600/IMG_0883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EhcXrMwFA38/VMv3zd6IoAI/AAAAAAAAVCc/ApCjEIoHwvc/s1600/IMG_0883.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>So long and keep moving.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">P.S. You've seen photos of people shoveling themselves out and you've probably done it yourself. I didn't shovel? Right. But I have an excuse: my left hip, severe artheoarthritis. So how could I do all that walking, for a couple of hours? Pain killer. That's my only explanation. But I'll learn more on Feb. 10 when I see the orthopedic surgeon at Mass General who replaced both of my knees with great results. It could be a good story. I see a heading something like "I am Bionic Man: What Are You Doing With Those Silly Human Limbs?"&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Lucky for me, a good friend and neighbor, aware of my hip issue, warned me not to shovel and snowblowed my place. Thank you, Tom!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b>My Latest Novel:&nbsp; </b><i>Something Tells Her.</i> Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring, and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, she runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; The E-book is&nbsp; available on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-tells-her-george-pollock/1118926752?ean=2940149336203&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940149336203">Barnes and Noble</a> and&nbsp; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a></div><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s320/2014-01-06" height="320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Other E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b></div><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mEYPEXf8A8/U-f-0bKoMQI/AAAAAAAAT6k/LZHOCA6EPQM/s1600/photo+5.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/4i996jZdads" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/4i996jZdads/blizzard-of-2015-of-course-yours-truly.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2015/01/blizzard-of-2015-of-course-yours-truly.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-2045006908301439176Mon, 01 Dec 2014 21:43:00 +00002014-12-02T21:37:14.714-05:00foster carefoster care alumnifoster siblingsup from foster careAt the Podium: An Old Alumnus of Foster Care Speaks to Young Foster Care Alumni<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wEL1tnqMv0k/VHP9z2U3D_I/AAAAAAAAU8k/zLfQxhzwZec/s1600/DSC_0338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wEL1tnqMv0k/VHP9z2U3D_I/AAAAAAAAU8k/zLfQxhzwZec/s1600/DSC_0338.JPG" height="251" width="400" /></a></div><br />My four younger siblings and I spent our entire childhoods in foster care. But now here I was, above, at the podium in the spacious, beautiful Hogan Ballroom on the Holy Cross campus before a packed gathering of alumni of foster care.<br /><br />The speaker, me, a former foster kid? The audience mostly all former foster kids? It was a scene that I could never have imagined way back when I was growing up without family and as a ward of the state of Massachusetts.<br /><br />I had been invited to speak by Grace Hilliard-Koshinsky, a foster alum herself and Project Director of the Massachusetts Network of Foster Care Alumni.<br /><br />The audience was young, from 20 to 24, and just starting out. My four younger siblings and I were once where they are today. We all went on to build successful lives surrounded by family. At the podium, I was determined to help these young people do the same.<br /><br />The schedule was tight and I had limited time. So I had to choose my words carefully if I wanted to avoid getting the hook from Grace, shown on the left, standing a few feet away behind the curtain. <br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yp6oL10PYvc/VHQLTzAcOcI/AAAAAAAAU9M/rZ06ScaT0Hk/s1600/DSC_0334.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yp6oL10PYvc/VHQLTzAcOcI/AAAAAAAAU9M/rZ06ScaT0Hk/s1600/DSC_0334.JPG" height="320" width="300" /></a><br />In my hand was a speech full of all kinds of stories of our foster experiences. But, right there at the podium, I boiled my talk down to absolute essentials for these young people to build successful, happy lives.<br /><br />"I'm not going to tell the story of our lives," I said. For that, I suggested they check out my e-book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ">Last Laughs</a>, the cover of which shows the five of us laughing our fool heads off.<br /><br />I pointed at a front table. "My two younger sisters, Marion and Ruby, are here today," I said. "They are very young." That got chuckles.<br /><br />I then told how both found themselves alone on the street at 18, no family, no money, and worried sick about finding a safe place to sleep.<br /><br />I told how Marion graduated from the Malden School of Nursing and Salem State University, and got a graduate degree in hospital administration at Boston University, going on to become Director of Nursing at Malden Hospital.<br /><br />I told how Ruby graduated from Worcester State University, earned a graduate degree, and became a licensed social worker. And today she is still at it, as an administrator at a large rest home, responsible for the well-being of all the many residents.<br /><br />The audience gave them a rousing round of applause.<br /><br />Brothers Vic and Reggie were not at Holy Cross and I did not have the time to tell their stories. But like Marion and Ruby, both have built remarkably successful and happy lives. Both joined the U.S. Marines at 18.<br /><br />Vic spent 23 years in the Marines and was seriously wounded in Vietnam. His life was saved by a miracle intestinal operation at the VA. Vic earned both a college degree and graduate degree after 14 years of evening college courses.<br /><br />Reggie, the only non-college graduate, is a genius working with metal and is just as successful and satisfied with life as the rest of us. He lives with his wonderful wife Jeanette in a beautiful-- and paid for -- house in New Hampshire.<br /><br />Now, how about a round of applause for Vic and Reggie? Thank you. I know they heard it.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OVw7wV_EGas/VHQLBJcWrNI/AAAAAAAAU9E/yUYRsCopOqU/s1600/IMG_5897.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OVw7wV_EGas/VHQLBJcWrNI/AAAAAAAAU9E/yUYRsCopOqU/s1600/IMG_5897.JPG" height="235" width="400" /></a></div><br />Three days after my talk at Holy Cross, all five of us got together, along with extended family -- real family -- for a fabulous Thanksgiving dinner at nephew Glen's house in Oxford, Mass. Here we were above, from left to right: Ruby, Reggie, Vic, Marion, and me.<br /><br />Now for the nitty-gritty of my talk, with telling examples from my own life. At the podium, I said: "Many years have now passed since the five of us were in foster care. I'm now 76 and at the far end of the life cycle. All of you out there have practically your whole lives and working careers ahead of you. I have four suggestions for you."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pq0dD519hw4/VHt9HWQDbFI/AAAAAAAAU98/gMYs2wOnmRU/s1600/DSC_0337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pq0dD519hw4/VHt9HWQDbFI/AAAAAAAAU98/gMYs2wOnmRU/s1600/DSC_0337.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></div><b>1. Turn adversity into strength.</b><br /><br />"As foster care alumni," I said, "we have a stark choice. We can let a sad, hard, unfair experience hold us back or we can rise, rise, rise above it."<br /><br />In my foster homes, I was nothing more than a boarder. I got so little attention and eye contact that I felt invisible. But I didn't buy it. I knew I deserved better. Instead of getting down on myself, I grew into one strong, independent young man.<br /><br />The summer I graduated from high school and had just turned 17, I walked away. In a few weeks, I had a good-paying job in construction, an apartment, a car, and money in my pocket.<br /><br />I picked up my four younger siblings from their foster homes and drove us all into Boston. I paid their way into a movie at the old RKO across from the Boston Common and bought them all the candy and popcorn they could eat. (This story also didn't make it in my Holy Cross talk.)<br /><br />It was a wonderful, unforgettable day. We all remember the day like it was yesterday. We were together, as family!<br /><br /><b>2. Find out what you are good at, enjoy, and can make a living at.</b><br /><br />In my early years in foster care, I was painfully shy, almost afraid to speak. Although physically strong and good at sports, I had no idea why I was on this earth until the 7th grade at St. Patrick's grammar school in Stoneham, Mass.<br /><br />There Sister Francis Helen praised a composition of mine and had me read it aloud in class. And then she had me read my compositions regularly, holding them up as an example of good grammar, sentence structure, and continuity of thought.<br /><br />Thanks to the good Sister, I found something I was good at and on which I could -- and did -- build a wonderful life.<br /><b><br /></b><b>3. Make Connections.</b><br /><br />"Look around this auditorium," I said.&nbsp; "Everybody here is a connection. Foster Care Alumni is a connection. I'm a connection. Connections are absolutely necessary in building a life. If I can help you in any way, let me know."<br /><br />The first and most important connection in life is family. As an alumnus of foster care, a fractured family or no family is a huge hurdle to be overcome -- but it must be.<br /><br />In my own case, connections literally saved my life. At an early age, around eight, my whole life was outside the foster home. My friends and their parents became my family and my connections. Some told me that their refrigerators were open to me any time.<br /><br />I was an ice hockey player in an avid ice hockey town. In my senior year, I was captain of the Stoneham High hockey team and the parents of teammates were amazed that no family ever came to see me play. It was one of the parents who pulled strings and got me that high-paying, union construction job at age 17, a few weeks after graduation.<br /><br /><b>4. Set big, long-term goals and do whatever it takes to achieve them.</b><br /><b><br /></b>At the end<b> </b>of that first summer on my own, I got laid off from my construction job. My job went to somebody with a better connection at the company. Paying college tuition not an option, not wanting to take a dead-end job, not knowing what else to do, I joined the U.S. Army. On the day I joined, I promised myself that when I got out in two years, I was going to college no matter what.<br /><br />A couple of months before I got out, I applied to Merrimack College in North Andover, Mass. and was accepted. I had no idea how I was going to pay the tuition, not to mention living expenses. But I WAS going and I WAS going to graduate and I WAS going to go up from there.<br /><br />Wouldn't you know, but the National Defense Education Act of 1958 -- passed a few months after I got out of the army -- provided no-interest, no-payments-until graduation loans for veterans. As a veteran, I got a $3,000 federal loan (which I paid off after graduation in ten annual payments of $300). Plus I made the varsity ice hockey team as a freshman and got a full, 4-year athletic scholarship to Merrimack.<br /><br />After graduation, my history professor recommended me to his alma mater, UMass Amherst, for a Research Associateship. I received free tuition in return for doing research for an expert on Africa, Dr. Gwendolyn Carter. Africa! After finishing courses for my Master's Degree, I decided to go to the Dark Continent.<br /><br />Dr. Carter told me about Teachers for East Africa (TEA), a program at Columbia Teacher's College that trained and sent teachers to Kenya in East Africa. Having done practice teaching as an undergrad, I was a qualified high school teacher of English and Social Studies.<br /><br />I applied, was accepted, did the training at Columbia, and went off with my new bride to teach in Kenya. It was an eye-opener. After two years teaching in Kenya, I wanted more of Africa. So, taking our new baby (Greg, born in Kenya), we went off to Nigeria, sponsored by the Hershey Chocolate Corp.<br /><br />I taught in Maiduguri in northern Nigeria, just below the Sahara. It is the place where Bako Haram was born, the Muslim extremist group that is now terrorizing and killing throughout the area. My students were all Muslims. Another eye-opener!<br /><br />Soon to be leaving Nigeria, I needed a job in the U.S. Thinking of myself as a writer ever since Sister Francis Helen praised my compositions in the 7th grade, I wrote a story about everyday life in Nigeria and sent it to American Education Publications in Middletown, CT.<br /><br />A major educational publisher -- Weekly Reader, Current Events, Read Magazine, and paperbacks for social studies classrooms -- AEP published my story. It was read in classrooms across the U.S. and AEP offered me a job as a staff writer.&nbsp; I worked there for 26 years and have been happily making a living writing and publishing ever since.<br /><br />With that, I shut up.<br /><br />Not only did I avoid the hook&nbsp; from Grace, but she surprised me with a big smile and a warm hug. I took my seat to applause,&nbsp; also a nice surprise.<br /><br />To foster alumni, let me say this: I was once where you are today. I know exactly how you feel and there is certainly no easy road ahead. YOU CAN DO IT. My four siblings and I did&nbsp; and you can too. Go for it!<br /><br />P.S. To see my Holy Cross talk, click <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/georgepollock111?feature=mhee">here.</a><br /><br /><b>NOTE:&nbsp; </b>I have a new short novel<i>, Something Tells Her.</i> Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring, and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, she runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; The E-book is&nbsp; available on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-tells-her-george-pollock/1118926752?ean=2940149336203&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940149336203">Barnes and Noble</a> and&nbsp; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s320/2014-01-06" height="320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b></b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Other E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b></div><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mEYPEXf8A8/U-f-0bKoMQI/AAAAAAAAT6k/LZHOCA6EPQM/s1600/photo+5.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/2TQMcIapEPY" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/2TQMcIapEPY/at-holy-cross-podium-old-alumnus-of.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/12/at-holy-cross-podium-old-alumnus-of.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-8286104185107374688Tue, 28 Oct 2014 13:32:00 +00002014-11-02T20:11:41.391-05:00birthday celebrationsbirthday destinationsBourbon StreetNew OrleansNew Orleans street lifeNew Orleans streetcarsRoyal Sonesta HotelNew Orleans: Celebrating a Princess's Birthday in a Fabled City.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">My good wife Barbara just had a big birthday.<br /><br />Neither one of us wanted a big party at home. We both knew she would just be working her tail off to make sure everybody had a good time. I wanted HER to have not just a good time -- but a <i>great</i> time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"What if we went somewhere to celebrate?" I asked her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She perked up. "Hmmm ... hmmm," she said, obviously interested.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I took that to mean yes. "Well, where would you like to go?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Her reply was instant. "New Orleans," she said. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"New Orleans it is," I said. She broke into a huge smile. We hugged on it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And so for 5 days we went to the birthplace of Jazz where 7-days-a-week live music is the heartbeat of New Orleans; where there is a deep cultural mix of French, Spanish, English, Americans, and waves of&nbsp; slaves from Africa (plus many free Africans); where its exotic history includes Voodoo, pirates, public duels to the death, grand mansions of early tycoons from various parts of the world; and where, by no means least, its mouthwatering Creole cuisine is admired worldwide.<br /><br />New Orleans is a story in itself. But I write here not so much about New Orleans, but primarily about Barbara's birthday celebration in an ancient, fabled city. And it is less "write" and more letting photos tell the story. And so here we go:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nkoeKYVj6wg/VE6V_9VwLdI/AAAAAAAAUw4/TGkyyrIIKpQ/s1600/photo-12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nkoeKYVj6wg/VE6V_9VwLdI/AAAAAAAAUw4/TGkyyrIIKpQ/s1600/photo-12.JPG" height="320" width="243" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are on Bourbon St. in the French Quarter. Our hotel, the Royal Sonesta, is across the street.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr align="left"><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-McfcUvWn-HA/VEfJlLO7hGI/AAAAAAAAUsQ/_9tePUQS3PQ/s1600/IMG_3863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-McfcUvWn-HA/VEfJlLO7hGI/AAAAAAAAUsQ/_9tePUQS3PQ/s1600/IMG_3863.jpg" height="320" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">The princess in the Royal Sonesta lobby -- with properly uniformed servants.</div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w8Xyx0BvOsA/VE53VC1uZLI/AAAAAAAAUwE/DoSjUiJsgNo/s1600/IMG_3866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w8Xyx0BvOsA/VE53VC1uZLI/AAAAAAAAUwE/DoSjUiJsgNo/s1600/IMG_3866.jpg" height="320" width="218" /></a></div></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />Milady in the lobby of the Royal Sonesta Hotel.&nbsp; </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QIA4OZIVkX4/VE53wTZKowI/AAAAAAAAUwM/-hucDo9XjHQ/s1600/IMG_3910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QIA4OZIVkX4/VE53wTZKowI/AAAAAAAAUwM/-hucDo9XjHQ/s1600/IMG_3910.jpg" height="320" width="203" /></a></div>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />Barbara on her birthday before dinner and a live jazz performance.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />For Barbara's actual birthday dinner, I had tipped off the restaurant managers that this was her big day -- and they went all out. Bowing and scraping before the princess, they presented her with a special birthday desert. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DM108wvegQw/VE6ZgiiH50I/AAAAAAAAUxE/xsbzU47QZ7k/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DM108wvegQw/VE6ZgiiH50I/AAAAAAAAUxE/xsbzU47QZ7k/s1600/photo-2.JPG" height="320" width="223" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SNqfEVZTotM/VE6Z6ZRBbTI/AAAAAAAAUxM/tEueMjtiQOQ/s1600/photo-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SNqfEVZTotM/VE6Z6ZRBbTI/AAAAAAAAUxM/tEueMjtiQOQ/s1600/photo-4.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dWkZsieFrYU/VE6abeEswdI/AAAAAAAAUxU/qf_Nvzq98U8/s1600/photo-9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dWkZsieFrYU/VE6abeEswdI/AAAAAAAAUxU/qf_Nvzq98U8/s1600/photo-9.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--OaZAhzrPQg/VE6a2w6xIzI/AAAAAAAAUxc/iUSf6rKedBg/s1600/photo-8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--OaZAhzrPQg/VE6a2w6xIzI/AAAAAAAAUxc/iUSf6rKedBg/s1600/photo-8.JPG" height="196" width="320" /></a></div><br />At the after-dinner jazz performance, the female singer of the jazz group, shown below, suddenly looked at Barbara and said, "Happy birthday, Barbara" -- and began singing happy birthday to her. The whole audience joined in. <br /><br />How did the jazz singer know it was Barbara's birthday? I tipped her off, of course. Barbara was taken totally by surprise. And, judging by her huge, nonstop smile, she was okay with it -- maybe more than that. <br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k7fsnjugBuA/VE2PwCEoyWI/AAAAAAAAUuE/ZcxlGOMaft4/s1600/IMG_3927.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k7fsnjugBuA/VE2PwCEoyWI/AAAAAAAAUuE/ZcxlGOMaft4/s1600/IMG_3927.jpg" height="298" width="320" /></a></div><br />I was surprised that she was surprised. Earlier at lunch I had pulled the same trick. Saying that I had to go to the men's room, I clued in the club staff that it was her birthday. Thus, after the jazzy birthday song, in no time at all, the staff surrounded our table and presented Barbara with a birthday cake with lit candles and two glasses of champagne. A nice touch!<br /><br />Here are photos of Barbara with a New Orleans lunch fit for a princess, and fellow diners clapping after yet another Happy Birthday song!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-boLYjG5B8NU/VE6fsaF_26I/AAAAAAAAUxs/1vgqBKXrFzM/s1600/photo-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-boLYjG5B8NU/VE6fsaF_26I/AAAAAAAAUxs/1vgqBKXrFzM/s1600/photo-17.JPG" height="320" width="303" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mOcPZ3iqrrs/VE6gNAQzxoI/AAAAAAAAUx0/tXOVNoun2Fo/s1600/photo-5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mOcPZ3iqrrs/VE6gNAQzxoI/AAAAAAAAUx0/tXOVNoun2Fo/s1600/photo-5.JPG" height="285" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />Now scenes of Bourbon Street's non-stop partying, street artists, music, and crowds -- and you never know what.<br /><br />&nbsp; <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CO81kGSDqNE/VE7XORKQIqI/AAAAAAAAUyE/DAXke21Cr5g/s1600/IMG_3755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CO81kGSDqNE/VE7XORKQIqI/AAAAAAAAUyE/DAXke21Cr5g/s1600/IMG_3755.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D0uAKywTdaE/VE7X21NtdZI/AAAAAAAAUyM/n-d_b2ItmYc/s1600/IMG_3742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D0uAKywTdaE/VE7X21NtdZI/AAAAAAAAUyM/n-d_b2ItmYc/s1600/IMG_3742.jpg" height="320" width="165" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RRr1B_QWY7c/VE1dlDk0W9I/AAAAAAAAUto/yTqUZDsiF0U/s1600/IMG_3745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RRr1B_QWY7c/VE1dlDk0W9I/AAAAAAAAUto/yTqUZDsiF0U/s1600/IMG_3745.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">&nbsp; </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-moKElpir_yY/VE1cj8GoMOI/AAAAAAAAUtc/7tokmRIWid8/s1600/IMG_3738.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-moKElpir_yY/VE1cj8GoMOI/AAAAAAAAUtc/7tokmRIWid8/s1600/IMG_3738.jpg" height="186" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lQD34Qz8Tlk/VE1b16AAyUI/AAAAAAAAUtU/l8slT4ws1AY/s1600/IMG_3922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lQD34Qz8Tlk/VE1b16AAyUI/AAAAAAAAUtU/l8slT4ws1AY/s1600/IMG_3922.jpg" height="193" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QdQ7k7vl_BA/VE1fPH5cD6I/AAAAAAAAUt0/jTrCz_SSvzY/s1600/IMG_3781.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QdQ7k7vl_BA/VE1fPH5cD6I/AAAAAAAAUt0/jTrCz_SSvzY/s1600/IMG_3781.jpg" height="200" width="195" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The police were on duty, but they never took me aside! They give street performers a lot of leeway. While the non-stop street entertainment is risque for sure, the police also know that it draws the free-spending crowds that feed the New Orleans economy.<br /><br />However, I <i>was</i> taken aback by the human sculpture giving me the finger and the near-naked woman enticing and posing with passersby.<br /><br />Stop! Don't go away. Let me make up for the risque scenes with more respectable ones.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ESn_igq2Ln0/VFJXcyq0vxI/AAAAAAAAUzw/KII-WVIJKQM/s1600/photo-13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ESn_igq2Ln0/VFJXcyq0vxI/AAAAAAAAUzw/KII-WVIJKQM/s1600/photo-13.JPG" height="320" width="255" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qjxNpaoux3Y/VFJXvHZxJ5I/AAAAAAAAUz4/eQFFlyKJ9hg/s1600/IMG_3772-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qjxNpaoux3Y/VFJXvHZxJ5I/AAAAAAAAUz4/eQFFlyKJ9hg/s1600/IMG_3772-1.jpg" height="259" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NpGMZiE1BZo/VFJYA0alS0I/AAAAAAAAU0A/s5PeTHy5AD0/s1600/photo-15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NpGMZiE1BZo/VFJYA0alS0I/AAAAAAAAU0A/s5PeTHy5AD0/s1600/photo-15.JPG" height="230" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qKPjgpxWWBw/VFJYaC2zXgI/AAAAAAAAU0I/E-4KS0ffkMY/s1600/IMG_3777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qKPjgpxWWBw/VFJYaC2zXgI/AAAAAAAAU0I/E-4KS0ffkMY/s1600/IMG_3777.jpg" height="243" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OYuAdy1UaLk/VFJY4kQMWSI/AAAAAAAAU0Y/suuZCENfoEQ/s1600/IMG_3831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OYuAdy1UaLk/VFJY4kQMWSI/AAAAAAAAU0Y/suuZCENfoEQ/s1600/IMG_3831.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br />Another big highlight was meeting Nikki Connor in New Orleans and spending the day with her. She is shown above with Barbara taking in a common sight, a colorful horse drawn carriage. Nikki and her sister Kim grew up next door to our house in Worcester, Mass.<br /><br />As little girls, they used to knock on our door and ask if I could come out and play. After big snowstorms, the three of us would build a big snowman in our front yard. Great memories.<br /><br />But now, having graduated from WPI with a BS and a Master of Engineering in biomedical engineering, Nikki is all grown up and living in Baton Rouge and starting a new job at LSU as a clinical associate at the university's health science cancer center.<br /><br />Nikki came and picked us up and chauffeured us all over the place. She took us to her favorite restaurant where the three of us had lunch, talked of the old days, laughed, and had a ball. At interesting places, we got out and walked. In the course of the day, we probably walked 10 miles!<br /><br />Following are photos from our great day with Nikki:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WmMIz3ihMzQ/VE2Yc16kI7I/AAAAAAAAUuU/8yVREbubUPw/s1600/IMG_3795.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WmMIz3ihMzQ/VE2Yc16kI7I/AAAAAAAAUuU/8yVREbubUPw/s1600/IMG_3795.jpg" height="223" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cvqaL89sYgE/VE2YxyRluqI/AAAAAAAAUuc/67pEnC5WPzQ/s1600/IMG_3819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cvqaL89sYgE/VE2YxyRluqI/AAAAAAAAUuc/67pEnC5WPzQ/s1600/IMG_3819.jpg" height="320" width="296" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-18tBLlYl-eo/VE2ZKLnfOnI/AAAAAAAAUuk/3PXW8Wq3ZA8/s1600/IMG_3829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-18tBLlYl-eo/VE2ZKLnfOnI/AAAAAAAAUuk/3PXW8Wq3ZA8/s1600/IMG_3829.jpg" height="268" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One day we spent most of the morning on a guided tour of New Orleans. Our guide and driver of the van, born in New Orleans and having lived there most of his life, told story after story as he took us to old above-ground cemeteries, along the path of Hurricane Katrina, through old neighborhoods, even past the home of Brad Pitt. (There was no sign of him, bummer.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the photo below, he explains why burials are above ground. The October 5 cover of&nbsp; the New York Times Magazine summed it up this way: "Every hour, an acre of Louisiana sinks into the sea."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lvpFy8GP-UA/VFAy3G5yZLI/AAAAAAAAUzU/cteS3Wybc5M/s1600/photo-11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lvpFy8GP-UA/VFAy3G5yZLI/AAAAAAAAUzU/cteS3Wybc5M/s1600/photo-11.JPG" height="313" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">&nbsp; </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We also took the the St. Charles streetcar, the oldest in the world, its entire distance and back. For $1.25 each in exact change, we could ride the streetcar all day, getting off and on at interesting stops. We got off and walked around some of New Orlean's oldest, most beautiful, storied neighborhoods.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Following are photos from our streetcar hopping:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFme-vUYqLs/VE2kpE2h7SI/AAAAAAAAUu0/hcNZG1BtGcM/s1600/IMG_4057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFme-vUYqLs/VE2kpE2h7SI/AAAAAAAAUu0/hcNZG1BtGcM/s1600/IMG_4057.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yXVXro-bmTc/VE2k6gvBc8I/AAAAAAAAUu8/DKXHlLmkNQY/s1600/IMG_4064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yXVXro-bmTc/VE2k6gvBc8I/AAAAAAAAUu8/DKXHlLmkNQY/s1600/IMG_4064.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hzkapDaqv34/VE2lWM9ONGI/AAAAAAAAUvE/bxb4ElOy5uw/s1600/IMG_3974.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hzkapDaqv34/VE2lWM9ONGI/AAAAAAAAUvE/bxb4ElOy5uw/s1600/IMG_3974.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--DCzpzOLrIs/VE2ll57kUCI/AAAAAAAAUvM/zpHI1I_pvVY/s1600/IMG_3963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--DCzpzOLrIs/VE2ll57kUCI/AAAAAAAAUvM/zpHI1I_pvVY/s1600/IMG_3963.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-siVpvr-m5Lg/VE2mBY979aI/AAAAAAAAUvU/3T0Fy9_eOqk/s1600/IMG_3967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-siVpvr-m5Lg/VE2mBY979aI/AAAAAAAAUvU/3T0Fy9_eOqk/s1600/IMG_3967.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YGROFQF71CI/VE2mUEOSXQI/AAAAAAAAUvc/LzLmXZW4jvU/s1600/IMG_3946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YGROFQF71CI/VE2mUEOSXQI/AAAAAAAAUvc/LzLmXZW4jvU/s1600/IMG_3946.jpg" height="200" width="187" />&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IqX8oIR5A9I/VE7asi1uQ-I/AAAAAAAAUyY/n518HPEMdJo/s1600/photo-10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IqX8oIR5A9I/VE7asi1uQ-I/AAAAAAAAUyY/n518HPEMdJo/s1600/photo-10.JPG" height="232" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1ylPS95ZiCI/VE7bdhp0SiI/AAAAAAAAUyg/zkcw7gdrsu0/s1600/photo-16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1ylPS95ZiCI/VE7bdhp0SiI/AAAAAAAAUyg/zkcw7gdrsu0/s1600/photo-16.JPG" height="109" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The last photo is a panorama of the swimming pool at the Royal Sonesta. Quite a change from Bourbon Street just steps away outside. I had some great swims while Barbara watched, read, looked around, and was at peace. I even caught her napping.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mission accomplished?&nbsp; I hope so. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b>NOTE:&nbsp; </b>I have a new short novel<i>, Something Tells Her.</i> Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring, and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, she runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; The E-book is&nbsp; available on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-tells-her-george-pollock/1118926752?ean=2940149336203&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940149336203">Barnes and Noble</a> and&nbsp; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a><br /><br /><b>E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mEYPEXf8A8/U-f-0bKoMQI/AAAAAAAAT6k/LZHOCA6EPQM/s1600/photo+5.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/S2cshQ0rLHs" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/S2cshQ0rLHs/new-orleans-celebrating-princesss.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)1http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/10/new-orleans-celebrating-princesss.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-5430064412181775608Tue, 09 Sep 2014 17:05:00 +00002014-09-09T13:31:47.658-04:00Anniebeach funCannon Beachcommunity theaterEdmondsfamily funHaystack RockIrish dancingKitsap Forest TheaterWhat a Month! In Edmonds, Washington and Cannon Beach, Oregon, a Great Family Adventure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />Good news. Instead of reading a long story, you just LOOK -- and see pictures of my visit to Edmonds, Washington and Cannon Beach, Oregon.<br /><br />Well, to be honest, there are captions. If that is too much, sorry. I'm <i>trying</i> to please!&nbsp; <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F3jcZEO4UYA/VAYRZa61pMI/AAAAAAAAUKU/1QH5hQG7DSo/s1600/IMG_0654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F3jcZEO4UYA/VAYRZa61pMI/AAAAAAAAUKU/1QH5hQG7DSo/s1600/IMG_0654.jpg" height="100" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A panorama of Cannon Beach, taken by my wife Barbara, with the famous Haystack Rock in the distance. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />We spent nearly a month in Edmonds, Washington visiting our daughter Misha, her husband Ed, and four grandkids, Mia, Bella, Max, and Talula. While there, we all piled into two cars for the 4-hour drive to Cannon Beach.<br /><br />Now photos from Cannon Beach:<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lmiHY1rz6sc/VAz4NbznP_I/AAAAAAAAUWs/-6EfqF3n8P0/s1600/_mg_7693(rev%2B1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lmiHY1rz6sc/VAz4NbznP_I/AAAAAAAAUWs/-6EfqF3n8P0/s1600/_mg_7693(rev%2B1).jpg" height="320" width="312" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gang --from left, Misha and Ed, holding Talula, myself and Barbara, and Bella, Max, and Mia (far right). </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sx7fXCMYmdw/VAtFbZWHmUI/AAAAAAAAUVw/Xd93Zw6j91s/s1600/_mg_7810(rev%2B1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sx7fXCMYmdw/VAtFbZWHmUI/AAAAAAAAUVw/Xd93Zw6j91s/s1600/_mg_7810(rev%2B1).jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At night on Cannon Beach, the fun goes on. Here we roast marshmallows. </td></tr></tbody></table><br />For more on Cannon Beach with all the links you need, click <a href="http://www.el.com/to/cannonbeach/">here.</a><br /><br />While in Cannon Beach, Mia, Bella, and Max competed in an Irish dance competition, or Feis, at nearby Seaside. It was fascinating. Irish dancing is Gaelic in origin, high-stepping, and intricate. The Feis drew dancers from many states and Canada to Seaside's big convention center downtown.<br /><br />The competition was fierce. But Mia, Max, and Bella all did well! Max was awarded a First Place for one of his dances, at his first Feis! Mia and Bella were awarded medals and trophies for most of their dances, both placing First in at least one dance each! Here they are below displaying their awards with their proud mom Misha.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z6qDJCO_vUQ/VAp8DgG8QUI/AAAAAAAAUT8/CJG5jBZjtE8/s1600/_mg_7669(rev%2B1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z6qDJCO_vUQ/VAp8DgG8QUI/AAAAAAAAUT8/CJG5jBZjtE8/s1600/_mg_7669(rev%2B1).jpg" height="312" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winners all! Misha altered and sewed Mia's dance outfit and made Max's vest. Next she'll make a dress for Bella!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />In Bremerton, we went to the storied century-old Kitsap Forest Theater where we saw Mia and Bella perform as orphans in the musical "Annie," both with speaking roles. Deep in the forest and accessible by a quarter-mile dirt footpath, the show was, amazingly, of professional-quality. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kQxZk9XKM88/VAinmmz1iBI/AAAAAAAAUPU/v_C0Z1izFuw/s1600/photo%2B3-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kQxZk9XKM88/VAinmmz1iBI/AAAAAAAAUPU/v_C0Z1izFuw/s1600/photo%2B3-001.JPG" height="256" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie, Daddy Warbucks and his household staff belt out a song.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pWy50MB6Fjc/VAipQikTAvI/AAAAAAAAUPg/hL65TKWUiY8/s1600/photo-10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pWy50MB6Fjc/VAipQikTAvI/AAAAAAAAUPg/hL65TKWUiY8/s1600/photo-10.JPG" height="241" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mia, standing left, and Bella, sitting second from the right, play their roles as orphans.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nk5rWIimzAk/VApyDJsP1LI/AAAAAAAAUTc/04P24-tGaOY/s1600/_mg_7632(rev%2B1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nk5rWIimzAk/VApyDJsP1LI/AAAAAAAAUTc/04P24-tGaOY/s1600/_mg_7632(rev%2B1).jpg" height="320" width="275" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the show, we got to chitchat with the performers, including Daddy Warbucks himself.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Us8_sttFf6k/VApzNN3BfhI/AAAAAAAAUTo/boOSzC6oDeU/s1600/_mg_7641(rev%2B1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Us8_sttFf6k/VApzNN3BfhI/AAAAAAAAUTo/boOSzC6oDeU/s1600/_mg_7641(rev%2B1).jpg" height="320" width="204" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We even got a chance to pose with "Annie," the star of the show, played by Sophie.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />After the performance I went on a hike with Sophie's dad, Mark, to check out Kitsap's famous Big Tree. Mark had performed in the production, a first for him. He had no problem playing a small part while Sophie starred. He was proud of his little girl. (In the photo of the ensemble above, Mark is the servant second from left in the formal black suit.)<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NtamcquVDto/VAiu5UZvupI/AAAAAAAAUPw/9VuRdQN9ASc/s1600/photo-13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NtamcquVDto/VAiu5UZvupI/AAAAAAAAUPw/9VuRdQN9ASc/s1600/photo-13.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now that is one big tree! It's also over 500 years old!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Kitsap Forest Theater is a magical place. For its remarkable history and operation, click <a href="http://www.foresttheater.com/">here.</a><br /><br /><br />I also had a great time playing with the grandkids.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2KmbyJYAt38/VAiw3rgk5LI/AAAAAAAAUP8/oZ4ekS6LSYU/s1600/photo%2B2-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2KmbyJYAt38/VAiw3rgk5LI/AAAAAAAAUP8/oZ4ekS6LSYU/s1600/photo%2B2-2.JPG" height="234" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Bald is beautiful," I told the kids. They said I needed hair and gave me some. A scary monster behind me! I had no idea.&nbsp; </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8hTXvUyvdxE/VAtIxbG0-eI/AAAAAAAAUWA/8nfinBAtmZo/s1600/_mg_7699(rev%2B1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8hTXvUyvdxE/VAtIxbG0-eI/AAAAAAAAUWA/8nfinBAtmZo/s1600/_mg_7699(rev%2B1).jpg" height="320" width="243" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Through it all, Talula was, well,&nbsp; all grown up. To her.&nbsp; </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T9ydonCy4_Y/VAi0En9mMnI/AAAAAAAAUQI/eJPOs1Ymrvc/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T9ydonCy4_Y/VAi0En9mMnI/AAAAAAAAUQI/eJPOs1Ymrvc/s1600/photo-2.JPG" height="307" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls enjoy a nearby playground where I took them. </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DI7f5T9R824/VAi1eRAQ9aI/AAAAAAAAUQU/uwa59LW7mow/s1600/photo-14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DI7f5T9R824/VAi1eRAQ9aI/AAAAAAAAUQU/uwa59LW7mow/s1600/photo-14.JPG" height="320" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Max went flying from the neighborhood swing.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a5ScaWj7Jio/VAi2_GVydqI/AAAAAAAAUQc/oT5RT2Y15eA/s1600/photo%2B1-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a5ScaWj7Jio/VAi2_GVydqI/AAAAAAAAUQc/oT5RT2Y15eA/s1600/photo%2B1-1.JPG" height="320" width="198" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Max displays blackberries that he and I picked. We ate as we picked. Yummy!<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E60ugPMIl_0/VAi5K0fJrXI/AAAAAAAAUQo/Ufmrn2yLGhg/s1600/photo-15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E60ugPMIl_0/VAi5K0fJrXI/AAAAAAAAUQo/Ufmrn2yLGhg/s1600/photo-15.JPG" height="320" width="296" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;Ed is a great cook. His salmon dinner was delicious. His eyes are closed just to annoy me. It worked.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nXe8i9WkEZU/VAtArOl_19I/AAAAAAAAUVg/ENpbSj3qZ44/s1600/_mg_7725(rev%2B1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nXe8i9WkEZU/VAtArOl_19I/AAAAAAAAUVg/ENpbSj3qZ44/s1600/_mg_7725(rev%2B1).jpg" height="320" width="280" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also annoyed Ed. Here he is getting ready to toss his grumpy father-in-law in the ocean.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />As is my habit, I also took off wandering here and there. On one such outing, I ended up at the beautiful Edmonds shore. I came across a few scenes I just had to capture.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ro2Qwy6hyG8/VAi9ZyRVzbI/AAAAAAAAUQ0/ZLE2b3ArLR8/s1600/photo%2B4-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ro2Qwy6hyG8/VAi9ZyRVzbI/AAAAAAAAUQ0/ZLE2b3ArLR8/s1600/photo%2B4-1.JPG" height="225" width="400" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1HiE2QB9vmY/VAi9vw1P5UI/AAAAAAAAUQ8/dhSKL7ji1Wc/s1600/photo-8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1HiE2QB9vmY/VAi9vw1P5UI/AAAAAAAAUQ8/dhSKL7ji1Wc/s1600/photo-8.JPG" height="270" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When the divers seen in the first photo emerged, they kindly let me take their picture.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />&nbsp;Now was that too much to read?<br /><br />What? I hear moans and groans! People, people, you can't be serious!<br /><br />Now what the hell am I gonna do?<br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>NOTE:&nbsp; </b>I have a new short novel<i>, Something Tells Her.</i> Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring, and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, rears back and kicks him you-know-where. Leaving him grabbing his crotch and yelping like a hurt dog, Jane runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; The E-book, is now available on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-tells-her-george-pollock/1118926752?ean=2940149336203&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940149336203">Barnes and Noble</a> and&nbsp; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a><br /><br /><b>E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mEYPEXf8A8/U-f-0bKoMQI/AAAAAAAAT6k/LZHOCA6EPQM/s1600/photo+5.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><br /><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/yXrdZpYbrNs" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/yXrdZpYbrNs/what-month-in-edmonds-washington-and.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)1http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/09/what-month-in-edmonds-washington-and.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-2827419997180879711Sun, 17 Aug 2014 17:29:00 +00002014-08-23T12:32:05.394-04:00big familiesbirthday partiesclose familiesfamily birthdaysfamily celebrationsfoster caremilestone birthdaysparty planningsurviving foster careFive Milestone Birthdays: Celebrating at a Beautiful Family Lakeside Cottage.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W2Vyqx9E1rU/U-f-XSCLHEI/AAAAAAAAT6Y/06JJlbHeJIs/s1600/photo+2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W2Vyqx9E1rU/U-f-XSCLHEI/AAAAAAAAT6Y/06JJlbHeJIs/s1600/photo+2.JPG" height="195" width="320" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mEYPEXf8A8/U-f-0bKoMQI/AAAAAAAAT6k/LZHOCA6EPQM/s1600/photo+5.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mEYPEXf8A8/U-f-0bKoMQI/AAAAAAAAT6k/LZHOCA6EPQM/s1600/photo+5.JPG" height="151" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sW2GnZ44_oI/U-f9n616t8I/AAAAAAAAT6Q/DQh0-Pb4EEM/s1600/photo+2-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sW2GnZ44_oI/U-f9n616t8I/AAAAAAAAT6Q/DQh0-Pb4EEM/s1600/photo+2-001.JPG" height="226" width="400" />&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is the huge Pollock family, five of whom are celebrating big milestone -- the second number being zero -- birthdays. (As the attention-loving patriarch, I naturally grabbed the front and center spot with two grandkids, Aidan and Nathaniel.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How old are the celebrants? Sorry, no can say. They have let me know in no uncertain terms that I should not dwell on numbers --&nbsp; if I want to live that is, which I do. All I can safely say is that the numbers all end in zero.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hard for me to believe, but my grey-haired son Greg recently turned -- cough, cough, choke, choke --&nbsp; well, it's up there. My oldest kid practically a senior citizen! Greg's cousin Jimmy also turned the same number ending in zero. My wife Barbara will soon turn a zero number and my brother Vic's wife Marianne just reached the same number. My baby brother Reggie made the same age earlier with minimal fanfare.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These were the five milestone birthday celebrants.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That is a story in itself, starting with my planning a big birthday bash for my son Greg. But as I made calls to my four siblings, one after another reminded me that they also had a recent milestone celebrant -- and wanted in. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm gonna say no? I repeat: I want to live.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But first, I had to see if this was okay with Greg. He had no problem sharing. Thanks, Greg!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next, I had to get a date that my son Greg and his wife Kelly could make, then one that I and my four younger siblings could make, and one that the cousins could make.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What a job! I called and called. No date agreeable to all in June. Ditto in July. Finally, I came down to one final date, Aug 2. All could make it except for one cousin, Nanci, who lives in California. It came down to either that date or no date. I decided to go with the last-chance date, Aug. 2.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nanci was disappointed and so was I. Sorry, Nanci, I wanted you there; we all did. If it's any consolation, you were there in our thoughts -- and very much missed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But all five Pollock siblings were there. With distances, five different schedules, and everybody busy-busy, that's no small achievement. Here we all were at the party, with Reggie and I showing off our Pollock sweatshirts.&nbsp;&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I9gFQvSiBu0/U-uYgonq0SI/AAAAAAAAT7E/s_AkS8bl7n8/s1600/photo%2B3-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I9gFQvSiBu0/U-uYgonq0SI/AAAAAAAAT7E/s_AkS8bl7n8/s1600/photo%2B3-001.JPG" height="268" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>From left to right are Marion, yours truly, Victor, Reggie, and Ruby. I am the oldest. Reggie -- a birthday celebrant -- is the youngest. He is the baby brother that I taught to swim at three when we were in the same foster home in Stoneham, Mass. -- by hanging onto my neck for dear life.<br /><br />All of us were abandoned and grew up in different, ever-changing, uncaring, often abusive foster homes without family of any kind. It is the basis of my e-book novel, "State Kid," a tome which took me years to write.<br /><br />My <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">new e-book</a>, "Something Tells Her," is a short novel about the horrendous experience of a 12-year-old foster girl who runs away -- and builds a life entirely on her own, something that all five of us have done.&nbsp; <br /><br />Marion became a nurse who rose to Director of Nursing at a major hospital in Malden, Mass. Ruby became a social worker and today is the longtime Director of Social Services at Crescent Manor Rest Home in Millbury, Mass. -- though she is years beyond retirement age.<br /><br />Vic served 24 years in the U.S. Marine Corps. He retired as a stern, no-nonsense Drill Instructor. Yet he had no trouble serving as my "rock bitch" when we worked together building a good-sized stone wall at&nbsp; his beautiful home in Sturbridge, Mass.<br /><br />When I needed a big rock, I just yelled, "BITCH!!!" and Vic came running. He was back in no time with a&nbsp; good rock. Here was a former tough-guy, U.S. Marine Drill Instructor happily doing what he was told.<br /><br />The irony was delicious: I was a one-time U.S. Army soldier busted to private for telling a drill sergeant,&nbsp; in front of the entire company, to "kiss my ass."<br /><br />Building the wall, Vic and I had a great time, laughing practically nonstop. And when we had finished, lucky for us, wife Marianne "loved it," said Vic. <br /><br />The only sibling not to graduate from college and earn an advanced degree is Reggie. He had no interest in college. Yet he has built just as successful a life as his siblings. A craftsman extraordinaire in both iron and wood, he has worked steadily at well-paying jobs.<br /><br />Reggie and wife Jeanette have a nice home all paid for in a great New Hampshire neighborhood. He built an iron and wood bench for me that is a master's work and that has been on my deck for years. It's a keeper!<br /><br />From no family, here are the five of us today surrounded by family. If that is not cause for celebration, I don't know what is. From weirdo ostracized "state kids," here we are leading full, happy lives and even considered "normal."<br /><br />I hear groans. OK, OK already, so I'm not normal. I got it!<br /><br />When the five of us get together, as we did on August 2, the bad old days do come up. And we marvel at where we are today and how long-gone those awful days are.<br /><br />Now here are scenes from the Aug 2 party, starting with five cousins and spouses. From left to right in the back row are Linda, Jonathan, Greg, Glen, and Jimmy. In front are three spouses, Kelly, Patty, and Janet. Those smiles are real.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wRQDDu-kHNg/U-vI2HTpumI/AAAAAAAAT7U/FhbYK6cw76o/s1600/photo%2B4-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wRQDDu-kHNg/U-vI2HTpumI/AAAAAAAAT7U/FhbYK6cw76o/s1600/photo%2B4-001.JPG" height="257" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--v2-7364FfM/U-5CgNhYlFI/AAAAAAAAUAA/9YhrXaVVxjI/s1600/photo%2B3-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--v2-7364FfM/U-5CgNhYlFI/AAAAAAAAUAA/9YhrXaVVxjI/s1600/photo%2B3-002.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><br />Above, big-smiling Jimmy and Emmalee head up the long lakeside dining&nbsp; picnic table. The yakking and laughs were nonstop over tons of great food, most of it homemade. In sharp contrast to our early-days "state kid diet" -- pasta, half a glass of milk, no seconds -- we had a feast: baked ham, meatballs, salads, fresh fruit, homemade desserts galore.<br /><br />It was all you can eat, of course.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><h2 style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;<b>Now scenes from the party:</b></h2><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rCVKkkE39No/U_OHzS0wJsI/AAAAAAAAUIs/Zo4NMzKhHeM/s1600/photo%2B4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rCVKkkE39No/U_OHzS0wJsI/AAAAAAAAUIs/Zo4NMzKhHeM/s1600/photo%2B4.JPG" height="315" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vic and Porky take a nice long, l o n g break.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fM2lykz6iBs/U-1EWwQGcVI/AAAAAAAAT9o/3enxWJNkj10/s1600/photo%2B3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fM2lykz6iBs/U-1EWwQGcVI/AAAAAAAAT9o/3enxWJNkj10/s1600/photo%2B3.JPG" height="185" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reggie and Jeanette do a little fishing and looking. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BfJ7aZDdhqQ/U-zz1yTfFGI/AAAAAAAAT8k/YBGyomlYmd8/s1600/photo%2B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BfJ7aZDdhqQ/U-zz1yTfFGI/AAAAAAAAT8k/YBGyomlYmd8/s1600/photo%2B1.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelly's family, with little Dallas, enjoy.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YaHEqAqXrQw/U-z40YrWHvI/AAAAAAAAT88/c4Gl2U2w_0c/s1600/photo%2B1-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YaHEqAqXrQw/U-z40YrWHvI/AAAAAAAAT88/c4Gl2U2w_0c/s1600/photo%2B1-2.JPG" height="166" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg and Kelly hard at work floating.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-neCqO-Ytw4o/U-zuxVG6GtI/AAAAAAAAT78/dndSr_uH4S0/s1600/photo%2B2-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-neCqO-Ytw4o/U-zuxVG6GtI/AAAAAAAAT78/dndSr_uH4S0/s1600/photo%2B2-1.JPG" height="176" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg tosses around brother Jon's son Nathaniel.</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WBmIrhl523c/U-z9DzjGTbI/AAAAAAAAT9M/0QG3QRp8oyU/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WBmIrhl523c/U-z9DzjGTbI/AAAAAAAAT9M/0QG3QRp8oyU/s1600/photo.JPG" height="252" width="400" /></a></div></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cam and buddies D.J. and Collin chill out.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DZFTrUYw4gc/U-z7FuFQkCI/AAAAAAAAT9E/Gknve9T7tMc/s1600/photo%2B3-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DZFTrUYw4gc/U-z7FuFQkCI/AAAAAAAAT9E/Gknve9T7tMc/s1600/photo%2B3-1.JPG" height="336" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James takes Aidan and Logan on a fishing expedition.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Now you're wondering, where is the group picture of the five milestone birthday celebrants and their beautiful birthday cake with all their names on it?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Good question. The answer is, I don't have one. What? Why?&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Whoa, calm down. Let me try to explain (or, if you prefer, make excuses).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Just as Greg's birthday turned on its own into a celebration of five birthdays, the same thing happened with the absence of a group photo of the milestone celebrants. Without anybody realizing it, the five-milestone party morphed into a celebration of the extended Pollock family. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That sort of thing seems to happen every time I try to plan something.<br /><br />I had planned to line up the five milestoners outside with the beautiful lake in the background. I, the patriarch, would be the MC. Starting with Greg, I was going to go down the line, saying something about each and inviting others to do the same. In fact, James had written out what he was going to say about his dad Jimmy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was going to talk about Greg; how he was born in Kenya; how as an infant he miraculously survived two deadly diseases -- malaria in Kenya and dengue fever in Nigeria; how he has shown remarkable resilience all his life and giving plenty of examples.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On hand was the basket he rode in all over East Africa as an infant. Inside the basket were photos of his Africa days and also a book, "Child of Africa," put together by his cousin Linda and me. I had planned to quote from it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, as I talked on, I imagined that everybody would be snapping photos of the five. Then we would present each with a little arbor vitae tree decorated with scratch tickets, bring out the cake, sing happy birthday, and then enjoy the rest of the day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But it turned out that it was more convenient to do all this inside. The trees and cake would not have to be lugged out. It was more intimate. It would be over in a flash simply because of something bigger and more powerful than my patriarchy: the voice of the people.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The place was a joyful, noisy, out-of-control madhouse. I had to shout and wave my arms to get the place quiet. When things finally calmed down, I said, "First, this started off as a party for my son Greg. He is willingly sharing it with four others today. I looked at Greg and said, "Thank you Greg."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The place broke into loud applause.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile James waved the paper of his planned remarks while shaking his head. He sensed that this was not the time nor place for a speech. I nodded my approval.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Also," I said to the assembled group when they quieted down, "I'm only going to say two sentences."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The place erupted in wild&nbsp; applause, louder than before. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The family had spoken: <i>shut your mouth and sit down</i>. I did what I was told.<br /><br />In all the noise and chaos, the singing of happy birthday and presentation of gifts to the five was over in a flash. People rushed outside to&nbsp; enjoy the day at Ruby's beautiful cottage.&nbsp; In all the confusion, I forgot to get a photo of the birthday five.<br /><br />But you know what? Even though nothing went as I had planned, it all happened for the best. It was a triumph of democracy that turned out to be a great day for our family. And I'm sure I can figure out a way to take credit for it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'd like to end by thanking a member of the family who made this great family gathering possible: my sister Ruby. Forty years ago, she spotted this cottage for sale, saw its potential, and bought it for $13,000.&nbsp; Over the years, she has spent all kinds of energy and money maintaining it and making it what it is today. And, while still working full time, she continues to do so.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here she sits at the cottage's new natural stone patio:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KxqkPWPiWjM/U-1CmJ6YhyI/AAAAAAAAT9g/UkoP7xmGtmg/s1600/photo-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KxqkPWPiWjM/U-1CmJ6YhyI/AAAAAAAAT9g/UkoP7xmGtmg/s1600/photo-001.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thank you, Ruby.<br /><br />So long and keep moving.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></div></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4mEYPEXf8A8/U-f-0bKoMQI/AAAAAAAAT6k/LZHOCA6EPQM/s1600/photo+5.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W2Vyqx9E1rU/U-f-XSCLHEI/AAAAAAAAT6Y/06JJlbHeJIs/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/xQgSax6J44c" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/xQgSax6J44c/five-milestone-birthdays-celebrating-at.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/08/five-milestone-birthdays-celebrating-at.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-7731890373917109998Fri, 20 Jun 2014 19:45:00 +00002014-08-23T12:43:46.516-04:00breaking routinecollege alumnicollege reunionLinder's Inc.Merrimack CollegePresidential securityPresidential visitWorcesterBreaking Routine: Go Different Places, Do Different Things -- and Have a Happy Face..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ST1o7SGBY1M/U6IjhthwoVI/AAAAAAAAT2U/PsAJOWTcu8w/s1600/photo-7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ST1o7SGBY1M/U6IjhthwoVI/AAAAAAAAT2U/PsAJOWTcu8w/s1600/photo-7.JPG" height="320" width="315" /></a></div><br /><br />Now these are happy faces, you agree? Is this just another ordinary day for them? Not likely -- unless they are routinely out in the street to welcome the President of the United States.<br /><br />Here they were in downtown Worcester, Mass. jumping up and down and giggling like school girls when they saw President Obama's motorcade pull into the DCU Center where he would address the graduating class of 2014 at Worcester Technical High School.<br /><br />With no VIP invite or ticket, I was also out there on the blocked-off streets swarming with police and Secret Service. But I was just as thrilled as these three women. This was an historic event for Worcester. I had my camera and I was snapping away.<br /><br />Who knows, I thought, maybe security surveillance will mark me as a suspicious character and I'll be grabbed by Secret Service for questioning. What a story that would be! What pictures! <br /><br />But no grim-faced cop or Secret Service agent came and hustled me off for questioning. I guess they just saw me as a harmless old guy with time on his hands and nothing better to do. Oh well, maybe next time.<br /><br />Still, this was something -- out in the street observing a visit by a sitting President -- that I had never done. I went on the spur of the moment and it was fun. Not only was I witnessing an historic presidential visit, but I was documenting it with photos, such as the one above and these:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3SaUVrTgb3E/U6IsWXAblII/AAAAAAAAT2k/RTLOoIaoMGY/s1600/photo-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3SaUVrTgb3E/U6IsWXAblII/AAAAAAAAT2k/RTLOoIaoMGY/s1600/photo-4.JPG" height="206" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--jipXkjFGpc/U6Ispw2vX8I/AAAAAAAAT2s/FYZW-nwrHqM/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--jipXkjFGpc/U6Ispw2vX8I/AAAAAAAAT2s/FYZW-nwrHqM/s1600/photo-3.JPG" height="293" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />In being there for President Obama's arrival, I gave old man routine a swift kick in the butt and the bossy grouch didn't like it one bit. Who was I to break away from routine? I put my face in his and growled, <i>me, that's who</i>. Out were the same old people, places, sleep-walking sameness, if only for a few hours. <br /><br />Even the modern good life, which is what I have, is complex, demanding, and requires constant planning. It does not permit routine-breaking things to just happen. It works 24-7 to keep us in line. No matter how successful we are, no matter how much money we have, we easily fall into boring, same-old, stifling, habits.<br /><br />What seems oh-so-comfy, however, is really a powerful barrier to anything new and different. It's a kind of solitary imprisonment without our even knowing it.<br /><br />Regularly breaking out of routines, in my not so humble opinion, is important in taking the good life to a higher, more fulfilling level. When I got a call recently from my friend at a local advertising agency asking if I and my wife Barbara would be willing to play background, non-speaking, non-paid roles in a Honey Dew commercial, we didn't hesitate.<br /><br />We jumped at it.&nbsp; <br /><br />What about the already crowded schedule? We made the time.<br /><br />Neither one of us had ever done such a thing. It turned out to be a fun and enlightening new experience, which I wrote about <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-star-is-born-i-am-in-honey-dew.html">here.</a> The ad ran on major TV networks. You can see it on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiTWGcxW0To">You Tube.</a> I am the Bingo Master in the background.<br /><br />And wouldn't you know, I recently got another call for a short speaking role in a TV commercial for a large, well-established Worcester used-car dealership, Linder's Inc. A speaking role!<br /><br />Of course, I said yes. I told everybody that this was going to be my big breakthrough. I got lots of laughs and eye rolls. But I was also giving old man routine another swift kick in the rear end.<br /><br />In the ad I and a couple of pretty young women took turns extolling the used-car buying experience at Linder's Inc. Following are&nbsp; a couple of photos of the ad shooting. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-friHkG_mauk/U6JD0X5rYdI/AAAAAAAAT3E/F_srPuQuaoc/s1600/photo-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-friHkG_mauk/U6JD0X5rYdI/AAAAAAAAT3E/F_srPuQuaoc/s1600/photo-001.JPG" height="246" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y0Wxz3UGid0/U6JD9wZmiMI/AAAAAAAAT3M/ocuRC9RlEyo/s1600/photo-10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y0Wxz3UGid0/U6JD9wZmiMI/AAAAAAAAT3M/ocuRC9RlEyo/s1600/photo-10.JPG" height="293" width="320" /></a></div><br />I just heard that the script, including my speaking part, was dumped. But I still made it into the new TV ad. I'm the handsome guy getting into his hot Linder's sports car. The ad is running during televised Red Sox games. See it on <a href="http://youtu.be/FbVol4twnsU">You Tube.</a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />Being a part of this TV ad was a new, fun, educational experience -- and a huge break from routine. I also got a $100 gift certificate. I got paid! And the team at Davis Advertising says that a speaking role for me is only a matter of time. Yes!<br /><br />Earlier this month, I did something else out of the ordinary. (Are you beginning to wonder if I have any routine life at all? Well, I do.) I got an invitation to a Golden Graduate reunion at Merrimack College in North Andover, Mass. where I graduated in 1962.<br /><br />Yes, 1962, 52 years ago this month! <br /><br />Barbara and I decided instantly to go. If going back to days a half century ago is not a break in routine, I don't know what is. Oh, the memories that came flooding back.<br /><br />It was 1958 and I was 20. I had just finished two years in the U.S. Army&nbsp; and was determined to go to college no matter what. With no parents -- I grew up in foster care -- and no money, I had no idea how I was going to pull this off. I applied anyway and got accepted.<br /><br />Then a miracle: The National Defense Education Act of 1958 which, as a veteran, qualified me for a U.S. Government loan of $3,000. It was enough to get me an off-campus apartment, pay the first semester tuition, buy an old used car, and feed and clothe myself for a few months. I dove into studies and made the varsity ice hockey team as a freshman.<br /><br />Unfortunately, toward the end of the first semester, I was out of money.&nbsp; Second semester tuition was due and I had no way to pay it.<br /><br />Then another miracle. A week before the end of the first semester, Father Paul&nbsp; Thibeau, the Athletic Director, called me into his office. He handed me a letter and said, "A four-year full-tuition athletic scholarship, congratulations."<br /><br />An impossible dream come true! <br /><br />The scholarship, plus working part time in the student union operating the telephone switchboard as well as working in the deli of a nearby supermarket, got me financially through the four years at Merrimack. My grades were good enough to get me a Research Associate appointment at UMass Amherst and free tuition while earning a Master's Degree.<br /><br />In my year at UMass Amherst, I did research for a leading scholar on Africa, Dr. Gwendolyn Carter. That got me interested in the Dark Continent. Soon, with a new bride, I was off to teach for three years in Kenya and Nigeria.<br /><br />How about that for going somewhere new? <br /><br />In Nigeria, I taught in Maiduguri way up in the north where Boko Haram, the fanatical, ultra-violent Islamic sect now terrorizing all of&nbsp; Nigeria, originated. As I write this, they are holding a couple of hundred school girls hostage.<br /><br />My students were all Muslims and totally indifferent to learning. Afternoons I would see them sitting cross-legged by the side of the road with the Koran, heads bobbing, mumbling prayers over it. This was where the present horrors originated. I saw it firsthand. I understand it.<br /><br />These were just a few of the memories that flooded back as Barbara and I had a fabulous lunch and chats with fellow graduates of Merrimack classes 1951 to 1963. (Merrimack was founded in 1947.) The President of Merrimack, Dr. Christopher E. Hopey, visited each table, welcoming and chatting with Merrimack's earliest graduates.<br /><br />I looked for graduates of my year, 1962, but did not see a single one. They must have found out I was coming.<br /><br />We were given a tour of a beautiful 220-acre campus where 75% of students live on campus and come from all across the U.S. and around the globe. Here are photos from the reunion:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ixBMF49-rH4/U6R-yl6HLGI/AAAAAAAAT4g/EiaLbVnULZ0/s1600/IMG_0484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ixBMF49-rH4/U6R-yl6HLGI/AAAAAAAAT4g/EiaLbVnULZ0/s1600/IMG_0484.jpg" /></a></div>The driver kindly took this picture of the tour group.&nbsp; I'm up front with my Merrimack College hat on.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YtYQE_iEBzE/U6R_x9rhm5I/AAAAAAAAT4o/VAbTpYrsvHA/s1600/IMG_0504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YtYQE_iEBzE/U6R_x9rhm5I/AAAAAAAAT4o/VAbTpYrsvHA/s1600/IMG_0504.jpg" /></a></div>This is our table with my empty chair front and center, which is appropriate since I kept leaving to wander around, snooping and taking pictures. Barbara is at far left. She socialized with all, but especially so with the woman next to her. She is Mary Rae, 85, graduate of Merrimack class of 1951.<br /><br />Barbara had noticed her walk in with her husband and thought "how great" she looked.<br /><br />Mary Rae said that when she first saw Barbara, she "knew instantly" that she wanted to talk to her. And talk they did.<br /><br />"She was just so fascinating," Barbara said. "And she had learned so much about what's important in life, what's not, and how to be happy."<br /><br />Barbara summed up Mary Rae's prescription for happiness this way:<br /><br /><i>Don't take things personally. Don't let anything people do or say hurt you. You are better than that. You are who you are. Don't sweat the small stuff; life is too short. Don't hold on to things! Let them go! Whatever comes your way, deal with it and move on. Don't try to be what others think you should be. Be true to yourself. Don't let anybody make you feel less than you are. </i><i>Just be who you are!</i><br /><br />I would add: regularly give old man routine a swift kick.<br /><br />So long, and keep moving.<br /><br /><br />NOTE: I have a new short novel<i>, Something Tells Her.</i> Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring, and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, rears back and kicks him you-know-where. Leaving him grabbing his crotch and yelping like a hurt dog, Jane runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; The E-book, is now available on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-tells-her-george-pollock/1118926752?ean=2940149336203&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940149336203">Barnes and Noble</a> and&nbsp; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s1600/2014-01-06" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s1600/2014-01-06" height="320" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T5RN0OVr0Tg/U3ednYw_2KI/AAAAAAAATug/MG-J3MBSkOA/s1600/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </b><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Other Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br />&nbsp; <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/8Yf6WvkMtWc" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/8Yf6WvkMtWc/breaking-routine-go-different-places-do.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/06/breaking-routine-go-different-places-do.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-6419901718541446908Sat, 17 May 2014 01:24:00 +00002014-06-21T20:27:16.185-04:00anatomy labbody donationcadaver dissectionhonoring body donorsmedical studentsUMass Medical SchoolHonoring Body Donors: Medical Students and Families Commemorate Anatomical Donors.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div style="text-align: left;">The auditorium at UMass Medical School in Worcester, Mass. was packed. Families were there to remember loved ones who had donated their bodies for medical research. Medical students, class of 2017, who had learned from the bodies of these donors, filled the upper balcony.</div></div><br />As a show of their appreciation,&nbsp; the medical students had organized this donor commemoration. In the photo below, after a reading of the names of donors followed by a moment of silence, the medical students gave donors&nbsp; a rousing round of applause.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LkzslfMPpjE/U3VZ3xnxOeI/AAAAAAAAToE/hgiHHYiWX3s/s1600/IMG_3015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LkzslfMPpjE/U3VZ3xnxOeI/AAAAAAAAToE/hgiHHYiWX3s/s1600/IMG_3015.jpg" height="170" width="320" /></a></div><br />My wife Barbara and I were at the invitation-only event because a dear friend had donated her body, and I myself am a future donor. Way back in 2000, after discussing it with Barbara, I trooped down to the UMass Medical School and signed up to be a donor. <br /><br />When I die, Barbara will place a call to Dianne Person, Associate Director of the Anatomical Gift Program. If my body qualifies, and not all do, Dianne will set the process in motion and oversee the pickup of my body.<br /><br />She will also tend to Barbara's emotions. She will walk hand in hand with her through the Anatomical Gift Program experience. And the body of the late George Francis Pollock III will become available for anatomical studies for from one to two years.<br /><br />However, as Dianne well knows, I have ambitions to be, shall we say, a <i>different</i> kind of cadaver. The current practice is strict anonymity, which I fully respect -- except that I like attention. I would like medical students to know my name, who I am, why I donated my body. I'd love pictures of me all over the anatomy lab. <br /><br />Dianne, I'm working on a video of my life that could be shown to medical students before they delve into my innards. Can we discuss? <br /><br /><i>My cadaver ambitions are laid out in my E-book, <b>I,Cadaver</b>, available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO">Amazon</a> and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940013197794">Barnes and Noble.</a> </i><br /><br /><i>&nbsp;</i><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FeHL6vAPstQ/U3eYOr6qD4I/AAAAAAAATuU/90fVJWX214Y/s200/george+p+3809+v5.jpg" height="200" width="133" /><br /><br />In 2000, Dianne Person had been on the job only five months. But in the years since, I have interviewed her for stories and we have become good friends -- though for some reason that is beyond me, she does not always take me seriously. Oh, well, Barbara and I still feel a part of the UMass Medical School family.<br /><br />Arriving just as the program was about to begin, I spotted Dianne and an important looking gentleman standing down front and to the side of the auditorium. I brashly went right up to her.<br /><br />Hugging, laughing, we forgave each other for not calling or writing. Then she introduced me to the gentleman, Dr. Douglas Cotanche.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mlUEdvPvl64/U3VzJtTKa4I/AAAAAAAATok/vA1-tkwu8RE/s1600/IMG_3051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mlUEdvPvl64/U3VzJtTKa4I/AAAAAAAATok/vA1-tkwu8RE/s1600/IMG_3051.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a><br />"This is my new boss," she said.<br /><br />We shook hands. "I'm a cadaver in process," I said.<br /><br />To my surprise, he laughed.<br /><br />"I know you're getting ready to go on, so I'll go," I said to Dr. Cotanche.&nbsp; "Where is the cadaver section?" <br /><br />He laughed again, harder.<br /><br />Dianne's new boss has a sense of humor.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5HMA7EbC7N8/U3VcAmVfTlI/AAAAAAAAToM/dO5gZstKqts/s1600/IMG_3011-1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5HMA7EbC7N8/U3VcAmVfTlI/AAAAAAAAToM/dO5gZstKqts/s1600/IMG_3011-1.jpg" height="177" width="200" /></a>Then, as the memorial began,&nbsp; I learned something else about Dr. Cotanche, pictured at right: he is a caring, emotional man.&nbsp; Reading&nbsp; a remembrance that a donor family -- at the last minute -- had begged him to read, he was deeply moved.<br /><br />His voice broke. Tears welled up. <br /><br />"Sorry," he said. He took a few moments to compose himself and then he went on.<br /><br />The first donor family speaker was another old friend, Marybeth. Her mom -- Mary H. in the donor directory, for privacy, last names are not given -- died last year at the age of 98. As she wished, she became a body donor to UMass Medical School. Dianne handled it, comforting Marybeth every step of the way.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LTsQ3X8fZvQ/U3VeUKVmnuI/AAAAAAAAToU/VllHroELjAg/s1600/IMG_3006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LTsQ3X8fZvQ/U3VeUKVmnuI/AAAAAAAAToU/VllHroELjAg/s1600/IMG_3006.jpg" height="192" width="200" /></a></div>Marybeth, left, spoke of her mom: of her love of life, her caring, her sense of humor, and -- perhaps most unusual of all -- her utter rejection of standard thoughts about old age. Mary was forever young, not just in her way of thinking, but in her daily life.<br /><br />At the age of 68, she took up skulling or competitive rowing, Marybeth said. She was also a serious long-distance runner. Marybeth told the gathering that her mom still holds the 85-and-older Senior Olympics title for the fastest ten miles.<br /><br />Marybeth said that being a donor made her mom happy. She ended her commemoration saying: "Not only did she get to go to college, she also got to go to medical school."<br /><br />With that, Marybeth left the podium to smiles and chuckles throughout the auditorium. For more about Mary, her values, active lifestyle, and additional photos, see this<a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2007/08/mary-haines-93-year-old-athlete-helps.html"> story.</a><br /><br />Marybeth was followed to the podium by five other family members reflecting on a donor: Mary Warbasse, Colleen Turner Secino, Nora Keil, Heather Allston and Judy Hallee.<br /><br />They told why their family member was a donor. They described what the family member was like in life: their humanity, individuality, quirkiness, and, yes, sometimes told in funny anecdotes.&nbsp; <br /><br />When they were done, there was not, as they say, a dry eye in the place. <br /><br />Next up were reflections from medical students, class of 2017, Robby Martin and Kate Singer. (Robby's reflections were read by Courtney Temple, class of 2017.) They had just finished their first year in which dissecting and learning from cadavers is critical to their understanding of the human body. <br /><br />A medical student's first intimate encounter with the human body can be intimidating, even traumatic.&nbsp; But, judging from their remarks, the students handled it remarkably well. Also, to them, their cadavers were clearly not&nbsp; lifeless blobs of tissue.<br /><br />They were human beings, people who had lives and families and histories. In donating their bodies, they had done a caring, generous, and wonderful thing. To these medical students, it was clear, their cadavers were heroes and heroines to whom they will always owe much to as doctors.<br /><br />Still, while respecting and observing the privacy of donors -- no last names, the rigorous anonymity -- the medical students can't help but be curious about them:&nbsp; who they were, where they came from, how they lived, what they were like ... and on and on.<br /><br />After the memorial, we all repaired to a large adjoining area for lunch. I immediately noticed an elderly couple sitting alone. The gentleman was holding a big bunch of flowers. Curious, I went over to their table.<br /><br />"Great flowers," I said. "What's the occasion?"<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />"Nothing," the man said. "They just gave them to me, that's all."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pzymjXdhJ_g/U3anY_3XQoI/AAAAAAAATqA/3h5fL8ZTcEw/s1600/IMG_3023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pzymjXdhJ_g/U3anY_3XQoI/AAAAAAAATqA/3h5fL8ZTcEw/s1600/IMG_3023.jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a></div><br />Albert, 94, is donating his body to UMass Medical School. His wife Ann says she has not yet decided. At only 100, she said she is in no hurry.&nbsp; <br /><br />And then who did I run into next?&nbsp; None other than Mike Doyle, Dianne's colleague and for nearly eleven years the Manager of the Anatomy Lab -- where my body will be going some day. He is also a friend. It was nice seeing him while I am still alive and kicking. <br /><br />Mike spends most working hours in the&nbsp; secretive, public-not-allowed chamber where medical students dissect human bodies. You would expect him to be suspicious, slightly weird, maybe a little ghoulish, and certainly close-mouthed.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-49GkgK98lZ4/U3aI3PEUeGI/AAAAAAAATpg/8tpjem72b8g/s1600/IMG_3017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-49GkgK98lZ4/U3aI3PEUeGI/AAAAAAAATpg/8tpjem72b8g/s1600/IMG_3017.jpg" height="200" width="167" /></a></div>Instead, having known Mike for several years now, I can tell you that he is none of these.&nbsp; As you can see in the photo at left, he is warm and friendly. He laughs at my fantasies of having my time in the anatomy lab be all about me and my life.<br /><br />Mike is a family man and the proud father of three&nbsp; daughters whose photos he readily shows off. There is nothing weird about Mike Doyle. <br /><br />He is, however, just as passionate as Dianne&nbsp; about protecting the dignity and privacy of donors. Once donors arrive at his anatomy lab, they become “patients,” following the example of Dr. Sandy C. Marks, founder of the Anatomical Gift Program.<br /><br />For the first-year medical students introduced to a cadaver for the first time, it is their “first patient.” <br /><br />Mike tells future doctors that these patients deserve the best possible treatment. How they treat this first patient is a good predictor of how they will treat patients later when they are doctors, Mike says.<br /><br />Take care Mike. Great seeing you while I'm still vertical! When you get my bod, I hope you change your mind about not playing my video in the anatomy lab. I'm sure the medical students would love it!<br /><br />At the post-memorial luncheon, some medical students joined us at our table. All were warm, open, and quite willing to talk about their dissecting experience. Once again that deep respect for their cadavers came out, but so did their wish to know more about them.<br /><br />One of them, Michelle Gillespie, in conversation with my wife about aging, happened to mention one of the donors being a 98-year-old woman whose body was in great shape. "It was incredible how fit her body was," she said.<br /><br />Barbara perked up. "That had to be Mary," she said. "Her family is right there," she said, pointing to the next table. "Would you like to talk with them? I'm sure they would love to talk to you."<br /><br />Michelle was wide-eyed. "Yes," she said immediately. "I'd love to."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6K5U2oKZdZE/U3Z9uGYgTWI/AAAAAAAATpU/aupr94IpEuI/s1600/IMG_3048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6K5U2oKZdZE/U3Z9uGYgTWI/AAAAAAAATpU/aupr94IpEuI/s1600/IMG_3048.jpg" /></a></div><br />Barbara brought her over, introduced her, and Marybeth and her family were overjoyed. What a lucky coincidence!&nbsp; Enthralled, Michelle and Mary's family spent the rest of the luncheon exchanging stories about Mary, the wonderful mom and fit-as-a whistle cadaver.<br /><br />The photo above shows medical student Michelle Gillespie, center, in blue dress, chatting with Mary's family long after the place had emptied.<br /><br />Also at the memorial was Albert B. Southwick, an historian and writer with a regular column in the Telegram and Gazette. His latest column, on May 15, was about the Anatomical Gift Donors Memorial Service. His late sister, Sarah, 97, had donated her body.<br /><br />Early in the column, Mr. Southwick wrote: "A remembrance and tribute to those who have contributed their bodies for medical research may seem macabre. Could any such occasion be uplifting, moving, respectful and almost spiritual? It was all that and more."<br /><br />He ended the column with an answer to a question that he knew had to be on the mind of every reader: "And yes, I will donate my body. You can bet on that."<br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><br /><br />NOTE: I have a new short novel<i>, Something Tells Her.</i> Jane is abandoned at birth and then placed in ever-changing, uncaring, and often abusive foster homes. At age 12, her latest foster father makes a sexual advance on her and, with something telling her this is not right, rears back and kicks him you-know-where. Leaving him grabbing his crotch and yelping like a hurt dog, Jane runs out the door. On the street, alone, no family, nobody, not even a last name, how is she going to survive?&nbsp; The E-book, is now available on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-tells-her-george-pollock/1118926752?ean=2940149336203&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940149336203">Barnes and Noble</a> and&nbsp; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s1600/2014-01-06" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_NxR8xcOsQ/UstM-1CalEI/AAAAAAAAD-k/AquWJaiQwlg/s1600/2014-01-06" height="320" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T5RN0OVr0Tg/U3ednYw_2KI/AAAAAAAATug/MG-J3MBSkOA/s1600/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T5RN0OVr0Tg/U3ednYw_2KI/AAAAAAAATug/MG-J3MBSkOA/s1600/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </b><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Other Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br />&nbsp; <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/WAGJYhaWiNY" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/WAGJYhaWiNY/honoring-body-donors-medical-students.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/05/honoring-body-donors-medical-students.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-5064038436010149957Sat, 29 Mar 2014 20:44:00 +00002014-05-10T15:00:15.976-04:00directing a TV commercialHoney Dew TV commercialmaking a TV adTV adsTV commercialsA Star is Born: I am in a Honey Dew Commercial Now Playing on ABC and Fox Television.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">It all came about when I got a call from Barbie, an old friend who works at Davis Advertising, a longtime family-owned local company. She said that Davis was doing a new TV commercial for Honey Dew and asked if my wife Barbara and I would be interested in playing small back-up roles.<br /><br />Millions of TV viewers with their eyes on me! Of course I said yes! Almost immediately, I felt myself being lifted up into the national limelight. Finally, at age -- cough, cough -- my time had come! Barbara&nbsp; agreed to go along with my latest escapade in delerium.<br /><br />We showed up at Davis and met the other "actors" with background, non-speaking roles. We immediately clicked and I took a group selfie.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kajoLiivK84/UzcpxqftoeI/AAAAAAAATkc/IAOk4rYtCb8/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kajoLiivK84/UzcpxqftoeI/AAAAAAAATkc/IAOk4rYtCb8/s1600/photo.JPG" height="261" width="320" /></a></div><br />This was the first selfie I had ever taken. I think it came out great, but only because Barbie, shown in the bottom middle, was telling me how to do it and guiding my hand all the way. Barbara is in the center. Jeff and Lydia are at the top, and Allison beside Barbie.<br /><br />As soon as we met, Jeff and I immediately started joshing each other. I made fun of his beard and he made fun of my bald head. Here is a photo of Jeff and me together.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MAoNQtIuZcg/Uzcqst5GTOI/AAAAAAAATkk/nhLF5fn0K2k/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MAoNQtIuZcg/Uzcqst5GTOI/AAAAAAAATkk/nhLF5fn0K2k/s1600/photo-1.JPG" height="256" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />We were ushered into the large room where the commercial would be filmed. The young director, also named Jeff, placed us in a scene depicting elders playing bingo and drinking coffee. While everybody else got just sitting roles, Jeff picked me to be the background Bingo Master. Aside from the main actors, I was the only one to be moving and in full view.<br /><br />Jeff explained what he wanted me to do: point to winning numbers and then to winning players. Seeing the Bingo Master as a central character, I immediately gave him some life -- dancing around, shooting an invisible gun at numbers, then snapping an upraised palm at winners.<br /><br />"Tone it down, George," Jeff said.<br /><br />"Okay."<br /><br />I tried to tone it down. But over and over, Jeff kept saying, "Tone it down." He said so matter-of-factly and without a touch of annoyance. In take after take, Jeff was the same way with the other actors. I was impressed. So this is how a professional director works, I thought. Cool.<br /><br />Finally, Jeff came back to me and demonstrated exactly what he wanted me to do. Reluctantly, and seeing no other alternative, I did what I was told. <br /><br />Here is a photo of me rehearsing my role:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l_ponWUouak/Uzcrcxw-IUI/AAAAAAAATks/qNgEesob1VE/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l_ponWUouak/Uzcrcxw-IUI/AAAAAAAATks/qNgEesob1VE/s1600/photo-3.JPG" height="241" width="320" /></a></div><br />In between takes, at the back of the room, I had a great inside view of the process of making a TV commercial. It was so interesting, so natural, so brimming with cooperative creativity. I couldn't help myself; I had my camera; I just had to take a video; and I did. <br /><br />Jeff is a perfectionist. He knows what he wants and, doing take after take, he keeps going until he gets it. We arrived at 9 A.M. and didn't get out of there until about 2:30 P.M. But the time flew by because it was all so different, interesting, and fun. Yes, fun!&nbsp; We had a lot of laughs, caught in my video.<br /><br />Now would you like to see the finished Honey Dew TV ad and my behind-the-scenes video of it being made? I thought so. Well, to make it easy for you, I have uploaded them both to my account on You Tube. Here is the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/georgepollock111?feature=mhee">link.</a><br /><br />Thank you, Barbie, for asking us to play these little roles in the Honey Dew ad. It was a blast -- and educational. Thank you, Jeff, for your patience, determination, and great technical and creative skills in pulling this ad together. Watching you work was a privilege.<br /><br />And now, with my Bingo Master character out there -- though toned down -- I know it's only a matter of time before I get a call for my next, bigger, untoned-down role.<br /><br />Come on phone, ring!<br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><br /><br />NOTE:<i> Something Tells Her, </i>my new e-book, is now available on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-tells-her-george-pollock/1118926752?ean=2940149336203&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940149336203">Barnes and Noble</a> and&nbsp; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a><br /><br />Jane is abandoned as a baby and raised in multiple horrific foster homes. After her latest abuse, a sexual advance from her latest foster parent, she screams "NO!" and runs out the door. Twelve years old, on the street, alone, no family, nobody, no money, how can she possibly survive? She can't -- except that Jane&nbsp; is no ordinary foster kid. She doesn't understand "can't." Read <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/01/something-tells-her-jane-12-year-old.html">excerpts.</a> <br /><br /><br /><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-miV30KTftF0/Uf55dXVJF-I/AAAAAAAADug/eQ88d_ssp_4/s200/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" height="200" width="141" /><br /><br /><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Other Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br />&nbsp; <br /><br /><br />&nbsp; <br /><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/YaG24lHUJTw" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/YaG24lHUJTw/a-star-is-born-i-am-in-honey-dew.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-star-is-born-i-am-in-honey-dew.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-5490784715940825629Mon, 17 Mar 2014 19:19:00 +00002014-08-25T13:34:52.942-04:00artificial kneesdouble knee replacementsDr. Dennis BurkeNantucketNantucket off-seasonNantucket Soup Partytotal knee replacementNantucket on Foot: Walking Around the Storied Island on a Beautiful Pair of Legs.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eqR4B0XGKlM/UxC8j609SyI/AAAAAAAASZw/NzyYyDnqegU/s1600/photo-024.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eqR4B0XGKlM/UxC8j609SyI/AAAAAAAASZw/NzyYyDnqegU/s1600/photo-024.JPG" height="252" width="320" /></a> <br /><br />Now that's a beautiful pair of legs ... and they're mine!<br /><br />Wait --&nbsp; hold your fire! I'm not the one saying they are beautiful.<br /><br />"Beautiful" was how my orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Dennis Burke, described them a couple of weeks ago in his office at Mass General in Boston. I was there <span style="font-weight: normal;">for my regular 5-year check-up on the double knee replacement that he did for me ten years ago.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: normal;">After X-rays and a two-hour wait -- Dr. Burke's rep is such that he is always swamped -- he welcomed me with his natural, big smile.</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">"How have you been doing?" he asked.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">"Great, playing tennis, running full out on the court, played this morning."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">"Let's have a look," he said, clicking on the computer and pulling up the X-ray of my knees.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div>&nbsp;Leaning forward, he took his time, studying, and studying. I was getting nervous.<br /><br />Finally, Dr. Burke turned to me, smiled, and said, "Beautiful. They look just as good as when I put them in ten years ago. Have you had any problems?"<br /><br />"None. I don't even think about them. Thank you, thank you."<br /><br />"Great, we'll see you in five years," he said, shaking my hand. And then he was out the door. I was in his office about ten minutes. For Dr. Burke, it was just another big success. For me, it was not only a life-changer, but a life-saver.<br /><br />But this story is not about my beautiful knees, well not exactly anyway, though feel free to tell everybody&nbsp; that I have great legs. It's about doing something that double knee replacements have made possible -- hiking for miles around the storied island of Nantucket, in off season, without a tourist in sight.<br /><br />I was in Nantucket visiting my friend Bill, who lives on the island. He and I go back some 25 years and we "get" each other. By that, I mean that we both know and accept that the two of us are, shall I say, "different." For example, I was in Nantucket on my own, without my good wife Barbara, but with her full support.<br /><br />Bill went off with me every day while his good wife Tracy cooked for us and let me take over the entire living room as my VIP suite. As I write this, Bill has just left for Nicaragua with a Nantucket friend for a full month, doing so with Tracy's full love and support.<br /><br />They are back-packing it. They have no schedule. They don't know where they will be staying, where they will eat or what. They aren't sure they will be able to communicate in this Spanish-speaking land.&nbsp; Bill has been trying to learn basic Spanish. On our early-morning swims at Nantucket High School, he counted his laps in Spanish.<br /><br />Wondering how Bill is doing in a completely alien land and culture, I called him on his cell phone. There was no answer. So I left a message: "Bill, I'm worried. You okay? You want me to send somebody for you?"<br /><br />I called him a couple of weeks later. Again, no answer. If I know Bill, I'm sure he doesn't want to listen to any crap from me or anybody else from the outside world, good wife Tracy excepted. Still, I left another message:<br /><br />"Bill, you okay? Got a place to sleep? Are you hungry? Had enough? You know, I'll be happy to send somebody to get you." Pause. "Hope you're having a great time, Bill."&nbsp; <br /><br />No reply, so far. <br /><br />Now the story of our five days together in Nantucket, with pictures.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-goOKPlTRiuI/UxZIfxCs8uI/AAAAAAAASaA/Dsx5GXLDczs/s1600/photo-14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-goOKPlTRiuI/UxZIfxCs8uI/AAAAAAAASaA/Dsx5GXLDczs/s1600/photo-14.JPG" height="320" width="277" /></a></div><br />Here's Bill on our morning hike with his dog Jackie leading the way. Jackie knows exactly where she is going and keeps looking back to make sure we are following. By the time we walk Jackie, Bill and I had already been swimming laps for an hour at Nantucket High.<br /><br />In the boy's locker room one morning, I was made to feel like a celebrity. Bill introduced me to a friend of his. When he heard my name, his face lit up. "George Pollock! Sure I know the name, Captain George Pollock of the Essex."<br /><br />He gave me a hearty handshake. "It's a famous name here in Nantucket."<br /><br />I puffed up.<br /><br />Every morning, Jackie was met by a play pal, below. As soon as they see each other, they start jumping around and yelping. The dog is totally friendly, but gives me a curious look that says, "What are you doing here, off-islander?"<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9MLSwOiPmQo/UxZMw46zUOI/AAAAAAAASaY/mqwR8hZHsEs/s1600/photo-5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9MLSwOiPmQo/UxZMw46zUOI/AAAAAAAASaY/mqwR8hZHsEs/s1600/photo-5.JPG" height="200" width="158" /></a></div><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4aCm0u_e_0E/UxZKf_wTxkI/AAAAAAAASaM/WANgd7SJHEU/s1600/photo-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4aCm0u_e_0E/UxZKf_wTxkI/AAAAAAAASaM/WANgd7SJHEU/s1600/photo-4.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a>Below is a scene on our morning hike.&nbsp; Newcomers to Nantucket are always amazed at all the open space and forests.&nbsp; Some two thirds of the island is forest with a large deer population.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Below is the Whaling Museum where I went one afternoon for a terrific free presentation by Alfie Sanford, sailor and explorer, on his adventures sailing across the Atlantic <br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iLk4AnosNks/Uyco5byf8EI/AAAAAAAATCo/tScTdyjHM4A/s1600/photo-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iLk4AnosNks/Uyco5byf8EI/AAAAAAAATCo/tScTdyjHM4A/s1600/photo-17.JPG" height="196" width="200" /></a></div>The audience was mostly older and probably all-year-round residents, except for me. This was the winter off-season, a quiescent time with no tourists and when the some 9,000 all-year-rounders have the island to themselves. In the summer, the island is overwhelmed by tourists.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-95SbHw-NWVg/UycpnQCyqRI/AAAAAAAATCw/eXE59cKRe2c/s1600/photo-13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eFyotFChlXg/UydOb65ytEI/AAAAAAAATEk/U0GfoMPZBAY/s1600/photo-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eFyotFChlXg/UydOb65ytEI/AAAAAAAATEk/U0GfoMPZBAY/s1600/photo-21.JPG" height="198" width="200" /></a><br /><br />When the presentation was over, I stopped at the front information desk of the Whaling Museum. I was curious about this famous Captain George Pollock of the Essex. Given my crazy background of prolific breeding Pollocks, we could be related.<br /><br />&nbsp;"I have a question," I said to a woman at the desk. "I heard there was a famous George Pollock in Nantucket history."<br /><br />"Yes," she said immediately, "Captain George Pollock of the whaling ship Essex that was rammed and capsized by a large whale. It was the inspiration for the book "Moby Dick."<br /><br />&nbsp;"Whoa," I said. I thought: <i>What Bill's friend said was true!</i>&nbsp; But I wanted to make sure.<br /><br />"How was Captain Pollock's name spelled?"<br /><br />"P-O-L-L-A-R-D," she said.<br /><br />I was both sorry and glad I asked.<br /><br />I also learned that Captain Pollard was no hero. Far from it. After the sinking of the Essex he lost another whaling ship. It was even more horrific with many lives lost as the ship drifted aimlessly and starving crew members resorted to cannibalism. Captain Pollard ate some of his cousin.<br /><br />Captain Pollard survived, but lived out his life as a despised, lonely Nantucket figure who worked as a night watchman. Now I just have to make sure Nantucket people know that I am NOT George Pollard, but George Pollock.<br /><br />Back to footing it around Nantucket. I had heard about the erosion taking place on Nantucket's east coast of Sconset and one day Bill, Tracy, and I drove out there and walked around. It's an area of big, high-priced, ocean-front homes where the erosion has taken a great toll.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jkwuPsBsL5k/UycuCUhUe6I/AAAAAAAATC8/0h-wLaEx2P4/s1600/photo-11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jkwuPsBsL5k/UycuCUhUe6I/AAAAAAAATC8/0h-wLaEx2P4/s1600/photo-11.JPG" height="263" width="400" /></a></div><br />We walked past propped-up ocean-front mansions in the process of being moved. We stood on empty spaces where some had already been moved and could look down at the massive erosion eating away at the ocean front.<br /><br />Above, Bill is with another visitor to the area. And wouldn't you know, but yours truly went to the edge and started jumping up and down for the camera.<br /><br />Tracy was horrified. "Stop that, George," she quickly said. "That's dangerous. The ground could just give way."<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--cb1D3mZnic/UycwamWM_dI/AAAAAAAATDI/7W7uE0QEFcg/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--cb1D3mZnic/UycwamWM_dI/AAAAAAAATDI/7W7uE0QEFcg/s1600/photo-3.JPG" height="200" width="165" /></a></div><br />I stopped. When a responsible adult like Tracy tells me to do something, I do it. Also, I do want to live.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ni-01Vea9Kc/UycxE20HULI/AAAAAAAATDQ/SEC3UInS6K0/s1600/photo-2.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ni-01Vea9Kc/UycxE20HULI/AAAAAAAATDQ/SEC3UInS6K0/s1600/photo-2.JPG" height="154" width="200" /></a><br />In the town of Sconset, Bill pointed out the famous sundial home. The dial is shown behind us. It has no moving parts, Bill explained, and yet keeps accurate time from&nbsp; shadows made by the sun. The sundial has been a fixture and popular tourist attraction for decades.<br /><br />One day, Bill, Tracy, their son Tyler, and I went to a very unusual gathering, to say the least. It is called a Soup Party and it has been happening at the same couple's home for 23 years.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dR6aCaQ2TY4/Uycy4q4LHWI/AAAAAAAATDc/bKdNe9DHFKQ/s1600/photo-10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dR6aCaQ2TY4/Uycy4q4LHWI/AAAAAAAATDc/bKdNe9DHFKQ/s1600/photo-10.JPG" height="320" width="256" /></a></div><br />The couple is at left. I don't have their names because they were so busy they couldn't talk to me. Nobody I talked to could pronounce their names, much less spell them. (If anybody can, let me know at pollock.george@gmail.com and I'll print them and give you full credit.)<br /><br />The couple started the party to break up the Nantucket winter for year-round residents, to give them something to do, to let them see and talk to other human beings.<br /><br />The Soup Party is not advertised. Word spreads by word of mouth. You have to be invited by somebody who is going. I got to go only because Bill and Tracy invited me.<br /><br />In other words, no one, not even the hosts, knows who is going to be there. And every year people show up and meet each other for the first time. The party is called a Soup Party, and there was a huge pot of chicken/veggie soup on the stove, but everybody brought food and it was as feast!<br /><br />The place was packed, boisterous, and with no apparent plan. It was all meet, yak, eat, and be merry. I heard a woman talking about a young guy sitting by himself eating. "That's Toby. He's a Nantucket Selectman," she said.<br /><br />I went over to him. "Hi, Toby, I'm an off-islander just visiting and I heard somebody say that you are a Nantucket Selectman."<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ke8m4D5JYl8/Uyc3lxqlN_I/AAAAAAAATDo/L29R8WX-zY8/s1600/photo-6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ke8m4D5JYl8/Uyc3lxqlN_I/AAAAAAAATDo/L29R8WX-zY8/s1600/photo-6.JPG" height="320" width="202" /></a></div><br />"I am."<br /><br />"Kind of young, aren't you."<br /><br />"I guess so."<br /><br />"How old are you?"<br /><br />"Twenty-six."<br /><br />"Twenty-six! I have a kid twice your age!"<br /><br />Toby said he had lived all his life on Nantucket and felt unbelievably privileged to be a Selectman. But with constituents waiting to talk to him, my chat with him had to be a quick and was.<br /><br />I noticed a fellow sitting by himself and, surprisingly, not talking to anyone. I went over and introduced myself. "Hi, I'm an off-islander just visiting."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cizqUJpzbHw/Uyc-nA2y8HI/AAAAAAAATD4/nPEceMvoJN0/s1600/photo-8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cizqUJpzbHw/Uyc-nA2y8HI/AAAAAAAATD4/nPEceMvoJN0/s1600/photo-8.JPG" height="200" width="179" /></a></div><br />"Same here," he said. "I live in Brookfield."<br /><br />"A couple of outsiders, how about that?"<br /><br />We exchanged names. His name is Tom. He said he was 46, married, with three kids high school through college age.<br /><br />He thought he was old.<br /><br />"Old? I have a kid older than you. My oldest son is going to be 50 on April 10."<br /><br />He looked like he didn't believe me. Anyway, we talked and he said that his longtime employer had laid him off and he was in the process of reinventing himself. I gave him my card and he gave me his e-mail.<br /><br />It was great talking with you, Tom.<br /><br />When Bill and Tracy had things to do (that is, excuses to take a break from me), I was on my own. I walked for hours all around the center of Nantucket. Here are photos of scenes that caught my eye:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Omn-fSMnzYs/UydBu8QdUMI/AAAAAAAATEE/esDJnXWRxaQ/s1600/photo-15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Omn-fSMnzYs/UydBu8QdUMI/AAAAAAAATEE/esDJnXWRxaQ/s1600/photo-15.JPG" height="283" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WvF-eeI-5Mk/UydB7-7oLVI/AAAAAAAATEM/KpW5QC6Iyk4/s1600/photo-20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WvF-eeI-5Mk/UydB7-7oLVI/AAAAAAAATEM/KpW5QC6Iyk4/s1600/photo-20.JPG" height="209" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qYvT0rsTxUc/UydCGuKcGfI/AAAAAAAATEU/fiXyi-9ZIi8/s1600/photo-19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qYvT0rsTxUc/UydCGuKcGfI/AAAAAAAATEU/fiXyi-9ZIi8/s1600/photo-19.JPG" height="210" width="320" /></a></div>This last photo is of a long line of people waiting to get on the Hi Line, or fast ferry, off island to Hyannis. I take the slow ferry which is half the price and takes more than twice the time. Yes, I like the lower price, but I find the slow ferry relaxing and enjoyable, a welcome change from our usual time-constrained, hurry-up way of life.<br /><br />Well, that was my getaway to Nantucket, mostly on foot with those beautiful legs given to me by Dr. Dennis Burke of Mass General in Boston. Thank you, Dr. Burke. Thank you, Bill and Tracy. Thank you, Barbara. Thank you, Nantucket, for the historic island of natural wonder and beauty that you are -- and for welcoming an off-islander like me.<br /><br />Now I have to call Bill in Nicaragua and offer to go there and rescue him.<br /><br />So long and keep moving. <br /><br /><br /><br />NOTE:<i> Something Tells Her, </i>my new e-book, is now available on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-tells-her-george-pollock/1118926752?ean=2940149336203&amp;itm=1&amp;usri=2940149336203">Barnes and Noble</a> and&nbsp; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp; </a><br /><br />Jane is abandoned as a baby and raised in multiple horrific foster homes. After her latest abuse, a sexual advance from her latest foster parent, she screams "NO!" and runs out the door Twelve years old, on the street, alone, no family, nobody, no money, how can she possibly survive? She can't -- except that Jane&nbsp; is no ordinary foster kid. She doesn't understand "can't." Read <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/01/something-tells-her-jane-12-year-old.html">excerpts.</a> <br /><br /><br /><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-miV30KTftF0/Uf55dXVJF-I/AAAAAAAADug/eQ88d_ssp_4/s200/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" height="200" width="141" /><br /><br /><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Other Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br />&nbsp; <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OmxSR2TeSgQ/UxZPvRshhXI/AAAAAAAASak/GFmXAO_4TgY/s1600/photo-17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hVDGmI4A1qs/UxZQPuWOmMI/AAAAAAAASaw/MC3fOXMGqHo/s1600/photo-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/0qEk4ErBCSM" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/0qEk4ErBCSM/nantucket-on-foot-walking-around.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/03/nantucket-on-foot-walking-around.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-98419492236358242Sat, 08 Feb 2014 18:52:00 +00002014-03-12T19:46:15.347-04:00fun in the snowheavy snowsnowstormswalking in the snowwinter wonderlandBig Snowstorm! Time to Be Sensible -- or to Play in the Snow?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">It was 5:45, Wednesday, February 5. Always an early riser, I was sitting at the kitchen&nbsp; table having my usual oatmeal, half an orange, and black coffee and looking out the front window and marveling at the free-fall snow, cloaking the outdoors in pure white and turning it into a masterpiece of nature.<br /><br />I was dying to get out there. To shovel the driveway and front walk? No, to play in the snow. <br /><br />Here I am waving goodbye to my&nbsp; grown-up, understanding, super-caring wife.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cIpHwQzdMq0/UvKkKhDXsPI/AAAAAAAASXM/CKsbl7wDNi0/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cIpHwQzdMq0/UvKkKhDXsPI/AAAAAAAASXM/CKsbl7wDNi0/s1600/photo.JPG" height="261" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />She had made sure&nbsp; I was wearing long underwear, had my scarf on, and had warm gloves. She noticed that there was a hole in the left thumb. "You going to be warm enough with that?" she asked.<br /><br />"I'm good."<br /><br />"You sure?"<br /><br />And I was off into a winter wonderland.<br /><br />The big storm was no surprise, that's for sure.&nbsp; TV weather mavens had been warning us of the storm for days and scaring the crap out of people. It's going to be eight inches to a foot, they said. Stores are going to be closed; so unless you want to starve, stock up on food.<br /><br />Don't drive; the roads will be too dangerous and you could easily get run over by a monster plow.&nbsp; In fact, don't go outside at all. There's ice under all this snow; one false step and you crash and land on your head.<br /><br />Maybe get a little healthy exercise with&nbsp; some light shoveling. However, do not, do not overdue it.&nbsp; Bottom line, this is a dangerous storm;&nbsp; don't take any chances with it -- unless you want to die.<br /><br />Was I scared? Hah! Just a couple of weeks before, I took a dive playing tennis and ended up in the <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/01/tennis-player-down-very-different-trip.html">emergency room</a> getting six stitches in my hand and bandages on my face and knees. Big deal.&nbsp; I'm healing and couldn't wait to get out in the middle of this great big beautiful storm. <br /><br />And, best of all, it looked like I, moi, would likely have this winter wonderland to myself&nbsp; except for&nbsp; monster plows acting like they own the road. Hey, guys, you got it all wrong. I own the road, not you.<br />You work for me so ... so ... stay out of my way!<br /><br />And then I was out in a paradise of natural beauty.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yp3g5BUuEr8/UvPTUD97RFI/AAAAAAAASXc/TaTIcF9WiPE/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yp3g5BUuEr8/UvPTUD97RFI/AAAAAAAASXc/TaTIcF9WiPE/s1600/photo-3.JPG" height="238" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BQT17zLWuyo/UvPTppJlLQI/AAAAAAAASXk/JT67Kscdbdw/s1600/photo-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BQT17zLWuyo/UvPTppJlLQI/AAAAAAAASXk/JT67Kscdbdw/s1600/photo-4.JPG" height="301" width="320" /></a></div>Well, I think it's beautiful.&nbsp; I especially like the words on this license plate, "The Spirit of America."&nbsp; To me, I am out here in the same spirit of our forebears who explored and tamed a wild and unknown continent and made it what it is today.&nbsp; Or. you are probably thinking,&nbsp; I am a crazy old man out in this storm because he doesn't know any better?<br /><br />Let's vote on it. If you think I'm in the spirit of America, raise a leg. Please, raise a leg. I'm waiting.&nbsp; Sorry, we have to move on.&nbsp; If you think I'm just a crazy old man, raise a leg.&nbsp; OMG!&nbsp; An army of legs!<br /><br />Well, here's what I have to say:&nbsp; You're all dead wrong!&nbsp; I'm in the true spirit of America and all the rest of you are ... are.... No, I'm going to calm down and not let this get to me.<br /><br />Instead, let me introduce you to a soul mate I met out in the storm.&nbsp; &nbsp; Except for two people walking dogs, she was the only other person I saw out walking. Here she is:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YoQQsn7pxEM/UvPq3nZThbI/AAAAAAAASYU/Ieyi5Nyxydw/s1600/photo-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YoQQsn7pxEM/UvPq3nZThbI/AAAAAAAASYU/Ieyi5Nyxydw/s1600/photo-002.JPG" height="320" width="236" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>"Hi," I said with a smile, "what are you doing out on a day like this?" <br /><br />She smiled back. "Good morning, I'm going to work. I live on the hill up there and didn't want to drive down in this."<br /><br />"That makes sense," I said, now walking on the road beside her.&nbsp; "Where do you work?"<br /><br />"Oh just down the road.&nbsp; We have an office where that big elderly sign is."<br /><br />"I know right where it is.&nbsp; So you work with the elderly?"<br /><br />"Not really.&nbsp; We do counseling for&nbsp; anybody who needs it."<br /><br />"Hey, how about that?" I said brightly. "Counseling. Here I am out here in this storm and just what I need. How's that&nbsp; for timeliness?"<br /><br />She laughed. And then, reading my expression, she beat me to what I was about to say. "I guess I could use a little counseling myself."<br /><br />We both had a good laugh.&nbsp; I&nbsp; told her I was writing a story about the storm, gave her my card, and asked if I could take her picture.<br /><br />"Sure," she said, posing for the camera.<br /><br />&nbsp;"Send me an email," I said, "and I'll have your name and make sure you see the story."<br /><br />So lady, where's your email?&nbsp; (Just kidding.)<br /><br />Next the Donut Cafe, pictured below, where I go on big snowstorms.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dELd-nzM_cM/UvPx-MKi3YI/AAAAAAAASY4/1ploDmwQJws/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dELd-nzM_cM/UvPx-MKi3YI/AAAAAAAASY4/1ploDmwQJws/s1600/photo-2.JPG" height="222" width="320" /></a><br />Normally the Donut Cafe is packed mornings, but today there were just me and a couple of other guys, regulars from nearby.&nbsp; The two waitresses had little to do but look out at the storm. "We'll probably close early," said the owner, who is shown in the photo clearing snow.<br /><br />I took a seat by the window. I call it the VIP table and the waitresses go right along with it without missing a beat.&nbsp; I ordered black coffee and raisin toast with a little jelly on the side. I sat there munching, sipping, flirting with the waitress waiting on me.<br /><br />"I hope Lisa is not going to be jealous," I said with a concerned look.&nbsp; Lisa is another waitress who was not there. She tapped my wedding band and, with faux seriousness, said, "Lisa's not the problem, that's a problem, a big problem. You're married."<br /><br />We both had a good laugh.<br /><br />From my VIP spot, I marveled at the snow packed scene outside -- which&nbsp; included an animal looking in right past me.&nbsp; He was totally uninterested in me. My feelings were a little hurt.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MOz84eiwmdQ/UvP4CFI-PNI/AAAAAAAASZI/6ARKwjwheIc/s1600/photo-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MOz84eiwmdQ/UvP4CFI-PNI/AAAAAAAASZI/6ARKwjwheIc/s1600/photo-001.JPG" height="320" width="303" /></a></div><br />"Hi buddy.&nbsp; Good boy.&nbsp; Isn't all this snow great?"<br /><br />He didn't even look at me. His eyes were fixed on his owner inside.<br /><br />On the trek home, I saw a few people shoveling. But&nbsp; I met not a soul on the road out for a walk and a magical time.<br /><br />This beautiful snow storm was all mine!<br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><br />NOTE:<i> Something Tells Her, </i>my new e-book, is now available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp;&nbsp;</a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;<img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-miV30KTftF0/Uf55dXVJF-I/AAAAAAAADug/eQ88d_ssp_4/s320/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" height="320" width="225" /></div><br />Jane is abandoned as a baby and raised in multiple horrific foster homes. After her latest abuse, a sexual advance from her latest foster parent, she screams "NO!" and runs out the door Twelve years old, on the street, alone, no family, nobody, no money, how can she possibly survive? She can't -- except that Jane&nbsp; is no ordinary foster kid. She doesn't understand "can't." Read <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/01/something-tells-her-jane-12-year-old.html">excerpts.</a> <br />&nbsp; <br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Other Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/xQ5URbEH4bg" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/xQ5URbEH4bg/big-snowstorm-time-to-be-sensible-or-to.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/02/big-snowstorm-time-to-be-sensible-or-to.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-8536950481411275875Fri, 24 Jan 2014 18:02:00 +00002014-01-24T20:59:41.759-05:00emergency roomemergency room careemergency room doctorsemergency room patientsUMass MedicalTennis Player Down! A Very Different Trip to the Emergency Room -- Enjoyable.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DPmwZAvLOVg/UuAUXV_aueI/AAAAAAAAItA/ikyQ5n_7NBo/s1600/IMG_2519-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DPmwZAvLOVg/UuAUXV_aueI/AAAAAAAAItA/ikyQ5n_7NBo/s1600/IMG_2519-001.JPG" height="259" width="320" /></a></div><br />Me with three pretty girls -- whoa, how sweet is that? &nbsp; <br /><br />I had just taken a wicked fall on the tennis court at the Greendale Y in Worcester -- and was on a stretcher about to be taken by ambulance to the UMass emergency room. My wife Barbara was on her way to meet me there.<br /><br />So what's with all those happy faces?&nbsp; <br /><br />Impressed with how quickly and responsibly the Y first aid staff responded -- inspecting damage, cleaning open wounds, bandaging, checking for concussion, looking to my every need -- I thought a break in all the seriousness would be good for all. <br /><br />After the two paramedics had loaded me on the stretcher, I put up a halting hand. To the assembled Y first aid staff, I said, "Wait. Here I am going off to the emergency room in an ambulance. Want to make me feel better? How about if you three pretty girls come over here and take a picture with me?"<br /><br />I held up my cell phone. <br /><br />Instantly, a male staffer said, "I'll take the picture."<br /><br />Lu Lu, Danielle, and Christina looked at each other, giggled, and gathered around me. They sent me off to the emergency room with those big, heartfelt smiles you see in the photo above. And you know what? Those smiles did help me feel a lot better because, honestly, I was a little afraid.<br /><br />So, you're wondering, what happened out there on the court?<br /><br />First, I spent an hour hitting with my friend Joge from 8 to 9 a.m. Then I stayed out there for doubles. The first doubles set was hard-fought and tight. Bill and I won, but just barely. In the second set, Rich and Dave came roaring back.<br /><br />They won four straight games and were ahead in the fifth when I, determined to avoid a wipeout, went flying through the air after a short ball -- and crashed head first onto the clay court. My right hand, my racquet hand, was caught between the ground and my falling body. Head, right hand, and both knees took the brunt.<br /><br />On my face below my right eye was a big ugly red blotch. Blood spurted out of my right thumb from a deep laceration. There were two gashes on the back of my hand, both oozing blood. Both knees were bloodied.<br /><br />The guys came running to help a fallen fellow player with a towel and bandages. With their help, I got to my feet and sopped up the blood with the towel. They helped me put on bandages. <br /><br />The guys kept asking if I was okay, how they could help. "Nah, I'm fine," I said, flipping Rich's bloody towel to him. He gave it back to me. "Keep it," he said. "With all that blood, it's no good any more."<br /><br />Despite hitting the surface so hard, I wasn't knocked out and didn't feel dizzy. Both knees hurt, but I was able to walk on my own. In all the years I have been playing tennis, I have rarely fallen and never ever fell so hard. <br /><br />Making my way off the court slowly, haltingly, I figured I would be able to make it to my car and drive home and get to a doctor.&nbsp; But on my way out I had to go by the maintenance office. On the spur of the moment, I stuck my head in and said, "I just took a bad fall on the court. Does the Y have any first aid?"<br /><br />That's all I had to say. The staff stopped everything. They sat me down and swung into action. They summoned the first aid team who went right to work on me, cleaning, bandaging, doing everything they could for me. <br /><br />They called Y manager Trevor Williams who came immediately and advised an ambulance. When I agreed, he&nbsp; made the call and the ambulance and two paramedics were there in what seemed like&nbsp; minutes.<br /><br />In no time, I was on the stretcher. After the happy picture above, I was quickly in the ambulance and on my way to the emergency room. While one paramedic drove, the other sat beside my stretcher.&nbsp; First he asked me a series of questions to see if my brain was still functioning. He didn't say it was or wasn't; he just made notes.<br /><br />Then he took my vitals, starting with blood pressure. Everything was normal, he said.<br /><br />"Age?"<br /><br />"Seventy-five."<br /><br />He looked surprised. "I wouldn't have thought that."<br /><br />I took that as a compliment.<br /><br />Then we were at&nbsp; UMass Medical Center and the two paramedics, both a couple of kids from my perspective, wheeled me into the emergency room. I got barely a glance and not a second look from anyone. I fit right in. To everybody there, I was just another stricken old guy who may or may not walk out of there.<br /><br />Being wheeled in, I saw room after room of elderly patients, many hooked up to life-preserving devices. I didn't get a room. They parked my stretcher in the hallway. Laying on it, I signed standard paperwork.<br /><br />And there I was on a stretcher, alone, a part of the woodwork, taking it all in.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MJ5yLRjddfM/UuCMbKfJ-bI/AAAAAAAAPwM/mA8PWeV83Rg/s1600/IMG_2525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MJ5yLRjddfM/UuCMbKfJ-bI/AAAAAAAAPwM/mA8PWeV83Rg/s1600/IMG_2525.JPG" height="318" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />Talk about busy. Phones ringing. Staff rushing here and there. Nonstop calling out. Lightning fast communication. Papers being handed back and forth. A young man in blue stopped by. "Hi, I'm Andrew Cathers," he said. "We're going to get to you soon."<br /><br />"You're my doctor?"<br /><br />"Yes." And then, with a smile, he was off.<br /><br />Barbara arrived and we&nbsp; found ourselves in the midst of a non-stop drama that is an emergency room. We&nbsp; had better than front row seats. We were on the stage -- as players.<br /><br />Another doctor, Dr. Sean Rhyee came by. He was Dr. Cathers' superior, said one of the staff. With the paramedics having already sent descriptions of the wounds, he gave them a quick examination and was off.<br /><br />It was about 11:30 a.m. and Barbara and I settled in to both watch the show and play our parts. A middle-aged woman was on a stretcher in the hallway, directly facing me no more than ten feet away. Obviously in terrible pain, her eyes full of fear, she regularly let out an exasperated, loud cry.<br /><br />Who is she? What is her story? I had my phone and could easily take her picture and wanted to, but I didn't. I wanted to respect her privacy. Nor did I take pictures of other patients, except for one, whose identity could not be made out.<br /><br />There was a sudden commotion farther down the hall. A man who had just been brought in by ambulance was yelling at nurses and trying to hang onto his guitar. His guitar! Emergency room staff and police officers were trying persuade him to give it up. As far as I could tell, the man held onto it. <br /><br />My first thought was that he had to be troubled. My second thought was: maybe he is right. Maybe his guitar could give him the strength to overcome what no doctor, no level of medical science medicine could match. Here is the photo:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--rXEJ9vLgkI/UuBFtQWep_I/AAAAAAAAMLk/bIQ9F1NExvA/s1600/IMG_2530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--rXEJ9vLgkI/UuBFtQWep_I/AAAAAAAAMLk/bIQ9F1NExvA/s1600/IMG_2530.JPG" height="244" width="320" /></a></div><br />Now Barbara and I waited to see Dr. Cathers. And waited. The staff brought me lunch: sandwich of chicken, lettuce and tomato, plus tomato soup. An older volunteer, probably years younger than I, came by and gave me a pillow. <br /><br />A staffer brought me ice for my face. Another staff member asked if I was cold. And when I said I was, he said, "I'll get you something." He quickly came back with two heated blankets. "You should be okay now," he said. "If you need anything else, give me a holler."<br /><br />I felt like a VIP.<br /><br />We waited. And waited. But we were far from antsy. Actually, Barbara and I were both entranced by this up-close documentary of the actual saving of lives. And, of course, I was seeing this story and already composing in my head.<br /><br />Dr. Cathers trotted up and tapped me on the shoulder. As he passed by, he gave me a big surprisingly warm smile saying, "Don't worry. Haven't forgotten you. Be there soon."<br /><br />"Not a problem," I said to his back. "We're good."<br /><br />It was clear we had some time on our hands.&nbsp; So, since I had the time, I decided to make a statement. I would let the UMass Emergency Department know that I was not your typical ancient on his last legs.<br /><br />"I'm going for a walk," I said to Barbara.<br /><br />"Okay, I'll be here."<br /><br />Actually, I had abrasions on both knees and wanted to try them out. I started out slowly, but feeling that nothing was broken, quickly stepped up the pace. Soon I was doing fast-paced laps, one after another, smiling at people, joking that I was out to set a new world record for laps around an emergency room.<br /><br />I passed the elderly-younger-than-I volunteer several times. Each time, with a big smile, he asked how many laps I had done. Each time I gave him a number and he gave me a thumbs-up. Now emergency room staff were looking up from their work, some shaking their heads with looks that said, "What's that crazy patient doing?"<br /><br />Simple. I was letting the staff know that I was not there to die. That's not the role I will play here today, thank you. In any case, doing laps was a lot more fun&nbsp; than just laying there on a stretcher. And as my laps kept going, I was soon making eye contact with staff, attracting smiles, thumbs-ups, and, I have to emphasize, those quizzical looks.<br /><br />Hey, it's attention. Nobody noticed me laid out a stretcher. Everybody noticed me doing laps. <br /><br />Finally, at about 1:00 p.m., Dr. Cathers returned. As I lay on my stretcher, he examined my wounds: face abrasion, right thumb laceration, knee abrasions. He and his boss, Dr. Rhyee, had discussed what had to be done. He explained that the main procedure would be several stitches to the lacerated right thumb. The face and knees would need inspection, cleaning, antibiotics, and fresh bandages.<br /><br />Dr. Cathers led us into an available trauma room where he directed me onto the table. He proceeded to take off bandages and carefully inspect the wounds. He is serious about his work; that becomes quickly evident.<br /><br />First job: my badly lacerated thumb. Here Dr. Cathers stitches my thumb:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrYab0T5pWY/UuCFRpjWABI/AAAAAAAAPSI/-JlfTtH3yEc/s1600/IMG_2542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrYab0T5pWY/UuCFRpjWABI/AAAAAAAAPSI/-JlfTtH3yEc/s1600/IMG_2542.JPG" height="273" width="320" /></a></div><br />But even as he works intently on me, a warmth and playful sense of humor comes out and we chat. I ask him how old he is.<br /><br />"Twenty-seven," he said<br /><br />"Twenty-seven!" I said. "You're a kid! You're too young to be a doctor! I can't call a kid doctor!"<br /><br />He laughed. "My father was a Marine jet pilot and he wanted me to be the same.&nbsp; But growing up I wanted to be a doctor. I went to the University of Connecticut-- go Huskies! -- and became a doctor."<br /><br />"I hope to God you are married or at least engaged."<br /><br />" Nope, but I have a girlfriend. She's a doctor, too, at the University of Arizona."<br /><br />"Your girlfriend is a doctor! I don't believe it." If they get married, I wondered which one would be the home-maker. She? He? Both? Hired help? "Well, that's different," I said. "I hope you're going to settle down and get married."<br /><br />He looked up from stitching my finger and just smiled.<br /><br />And so it went. After putting six stitches into my thumb, he went to work on my knees and face, pictured here:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i_d9_OYIneU/UuCIbgKht5I/AAAAAAAAPho/D1uns3n6VAE/s1600/IMG_2546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i_d9_OYIneU/UuCIbgKht5I/AAAAAAAAPho/D1uns3n6VAE/s1600/IMG_2546.JPG" height="138" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2IFllXj-d0/UuCIsgjfcLI/AAAAAAAAPi0/TdDEdYw929g/s1600/IMG_2552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v2IFllXj-d0/UuCIsgjfcLI/AAAAAAAAPi0/TdDEdYw929g/s1600/IMG_2552.JPG" height="173" width="200" /></a></div><br /><br />Finally, at about 2:30 pm, Dr. Cathers --&nbsp; I call him Andrew, of course -- is done repairing me.&nbsp; I want to socialize. But he has patients waiting for him and has to run.<br /><br />"Tell you what Andrew," I said. "Get up on this table and my wife will take a picture of us together."<br /><br />Out came that big, warm smile. "Sure," he said. We sat on the table together, put our arms around each other, and Barbara took this photo:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x3erm7Kps5k/UuCLw-Hz6ZI/AAAAAAAAPtw/NQyC0lmfg0Q/s1600/IMG_2555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x3erm7Kps5k/UuCLw-Hz6ZI/AAAAAAAAPtw/NQyC0lmfg0Q/s1600/IMG_2555.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br />We look like brothers, don't you think?<br /><br />So long&nbsp; and keep moving.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;***</div><br />NOTE:<i> Something Tells Her, </i>my new e-book, is now available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp;&nbsp;</a><br /><br />Jane is abandoned as a baby and raised in multiple horrific foster homes. After her latest abuse, a sexual advance from her latest foster parent, she screams "NO!" and runs out the door Twelve years old, on the street, alone, no family, nobody, no money, how can she possibly survive? She can't -- except that Jane&nbsp; is no ordinary foster kid. She doesn't understand "can't." Read <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/01/something-tells-her-jane-12-year-old.html">excerpts.</a> <br /><br /><br /><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-miV30KTftF0/Uf55dXVJF-I/AAAAAAAADug/eQ88d_ssp_4/s200/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" height="200" width="141" /><br /><br /><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Other Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/UPunkdpGs3A" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/UPunkdpGs3A/tennis-player-down-very-different-trip.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/01/tennis-player-down-very-different-trip.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-720179422016992119Wed, 08 Jan 2014 20:52:00 +00002014-01-09T19:08:23.412-05:00Something Tells Her: Jane, a 12-year-old Foster Kid, Screams "NO!" to Attempted Rape, and Then ... Well, Here Are Excerpts.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-miV30KTftF0/Uf55dXVJF-I/AAAAAAAADug/eQ88d_ssp_4/s400/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" height="400" width="285" /><br /><br />In my new<i> </i>novel<i>, Something Tells Her</i>,&nbsp; Jane is abandoned as a baby and raised in multiple horrific foster homes. After her latest abuse, an attempted rape, she screams "NO!" and runs out the door. Twelve years old, on the street, alone, no family, nobody, no money, how can she possibly survive?<br /><br />She can't -- except that Jane&nbsp; is no ordinary foster kid. She doesn't understand "can't."<br /><br /><i>Something Tells Her</i> is fiction based on real-life --&nbsp; my own childhood&nbsp; and that of four younger siblings spent in multiple abusive foster homes and group homes. Against all odds, the five of us reunited and built successful, happy lives filled with family.<br /><br />I have ten grand kids, for example. Hanging out with my granddaughter Mia, 12, has given me an inside look on how a 12-year-old girl thinks, feels, and acts. Mia is the girl on the cover of <i>Something Tells Her</i>.<br /><br />Gabbing all the way, Mia and I walked to a nearby park with swings and play equipment. We were two kids having a ball, until some girls her age showed up and&nbsp; she dumped me.<br /><br />I was relegated to watching, listening, taking notes. But I learned a lot about young girls from Mia and also from my three other granddaughters, Bela, Talula, and Riley.&nbsp; The credited editor of <i>Something Tells Her</i>, Miabela T. Riley, is a combination of their names. <br /><br /><i>Something Tells Her</i> is now available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.</a><br /><br />Following are short excerpts:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Excerpt One</b></div><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To Mr. and Mrs. Williams, struggling to pay the bills, Jane knows she is nothing more than a sum of money from the state. She wishes that were not so, but always, always hopes for more. She dreams of the same kind of love that she sees Kate getting every day.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So when Mr. Williams suddenly dropped his gruff ways toward her and started looking at her and talking to her in a friendlier way, it felt good. Before, he slipped sweet treats to Kate alone. Now, he also gave them to Jane as well, with a smile. </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Williams and Kate were out and Mr. Williams and Jane were alone in the house. Jane was in Kate’s room drawing at her desk when Mr. Williams came in. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was a little tipsy from drinking. “Got a nice fresh cantaloupe,” he said, slightly slurring his words. “Want some?” </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jane loves fresh fruit, but almost never gets it. As a general rule, fresh fruit is too expensive to waste on a state kid -- slang for foster child or ward of the state. And this is the first time Jane has been offered it, though Kate eats it all the time.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jane’s first thought was: </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>yummy</i></span><span style="font-size: medium;">. Her second thought was: </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Gee, maybe he likes me and is going to be nice to me. </i></span><span style="font-size: medium;">So she smiled, took the piece of cantaloupe, and said, “Thank you, thank you. Cantaloupe is my very favorite.”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He brought over a chair and sat down beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder as she ate the cantaloupe. He stroked her hair. In a kindly voice, he told her that she was “beautiful.” </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Although boys like the way she looks -- she can tell by the way their eyes follow her -- no one has ever told her she is beautiful. Hearing it was as sweet as the cantaloupe.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Smiling, Mr. Williams moved closer. He kissed her tenderly on the cheek. Jane took a big bite of the cantaloupe, saying, “Oh, this is so delicious. Thank you so very much.”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-size: medium;">You’re welcome,” he said, in a warm, fatherly voice.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He gently pulled her closer to him. And then, as his lips were about to meet hers, alarms inside of Jane started clanging. Pushing herself away from him, she jumped up screaming.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />“<span style="font-size: medium;">No! No! NO!”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mr. Williams’ eyes all but popped out of his head. Friendly face gone, he glared at Jane. “You little brat!”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fatherly smile now replaced by a twisted face, the man moved toward Jane with outstretched arms. “Come to papa, little girl,” he said. “Come to papa.”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Just as he was about to grab her, Jane reared back and kicked him as hard as she could -- right between the legs. With a howl, he grabbed himself and fell to the floor.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">With Mr. Williams on the floor yelping like a hurt dog, Jane ran out the front door and kept running. She didn’t know where she was running to. She just ran and ran until she was so winded she couldn't run anymore.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She plopped down on the edge of the sidewalk near the entrance to a big shopping center. There she sat, knees to her chest, head dropped, gasping for breath, trying to get control of herself.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Excerpt Two</b></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">In the car, Jane said, “Mr. Williams tried to touch me in a bad way.” </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not taking her eyes off the road, the assistant said, “I'm so sorry, but could you please save it for the social worker? Thank you.” </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jane sighed, folded her arms, and didn't say another word. </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a half hour drive in silence, they arrived at the Department of Social Services in Boston. Jane sat in the waiting area for over an hour before being seen by a social worker, a woman Jane had never seen before. </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The social worker listened to Jane's story, took notes, and was genuinely appalled by what she heard. “Don't worry,” she said. “You're safe now. We're going to take care of you and find you a good home.”</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But, with Jane's file in hand, listing her as a repeat “maladjuster” with “severe behavioral problems,” the well-meaning social worker could not help but take her story as more of the same. She ended the session with the usual feel-good, no-promise words that Jane had come to know so well. </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jane’s story of the cantaloupe-bearing, sex-seeking foster father never gets written down, never becomes a part of her official record – but what the foster parents and their daughter said about her, does. </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As usual, the adults are believed, Jane is not, and her supposed lying, disobedience, disrespect and non-stop trouble making makes it into her personal profile. </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Excerpt Three</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">As a professional knowing how to deal with troubled kids, Dr. Blake arrives with a big smile, empathetic eye-contact, and a warm two-handed clasp of Jane’s hand.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">"Hello, Jane,” Dr. Blake said. “Nice to meet you. I understand you like to read and write.”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-size: medium;">Yes.”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dr. Blake, used to attention-deprived kids jumping at a chance to be heard, waits for the usual long, childish rambling. Instead, she gets no more than a “yes” from a young girl calmly reading her face.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dr. Blake continues. “I’m sure you must enjoy your reading and writing. What is it you like best about them?”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-size: medium;">It's another world.”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dr. Blake waits for more. No more comes.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After several more questions with the same lack of response from her patient, Dr. Blake ends the session. After a few more similarly unproductive sessions, Dr. Blake diagnoses Jane with Social Anxiety Disorder. She writes out a prescription for medication and dismisses Jane -- a routine diagnosis and prescription.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">Her job is done.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Jane fakes taking the pills.</span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">NOTE: The story of Jane Joy reflects the way the foster care system was in the bad old days of the 1950'sand 60's, a pattern of&nbsp; abuse, exploitation<b>, </b>and official negligence. While being in foster care still involves great emotional pain and&nbsp; hardship, things have improved greatly.&nbsp; See previous <a href="http://www.patientsprogress.blogspot.com/">story.&nbsp;</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />Also, now the emphasis has shifted from long term foster care to returning kids to their families as soon as possible. If that can't be done, efforts shift to adoption as explained <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/">here.</a><br /><br />Below is my granddaughter Mia as she posed for the cover. It depicts a scene in the novel in which something tells Jane that she should stay out of rough waters -- which, she later learned, drowned another unwarned girl.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zqDbmJbqYg4/UqidvHRiKBI/AAAAAAAAD68/7Ml2puCJbaI/s1600/baby+jane+cover+photo,+mia+and+waves.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zqDbmJbqYg4/UqidvHRiKBI/AAAAAAAAD68/7Ml2puCJbaI/s320/baby+jane+cover+photo,+mia+and+waves.JPG" height="320" width="226" /></a></div><br />After performing in The Wizard of Oz, Mia poses for photos with her mom and grand mom. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y2ljhZaIPEI/Uqixd1ayihI/AAAAAAAAD7w/zolYB0K06rU/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y2ljhZaIPEI/Uqixd1ayihI/AAAAAAAAD7w/zolYB0K06rU/s320/photo.JPG" height="228" width="320" /></a></div></div><br />As a performer, singing and dancing, Mia is making her mark. In <i>Something Tells Her</i>, so does Jane Joy. -- by rewriting the script for what is possible for a 12-year-old girl entirely on her own in the world.<br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <b>Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><br /><br /><u><b>For the Barnes and Noble Nook</b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>:</b></span></u><br /><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-beautiful-story-george-pollock/1107730632?ean=2940013539464" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Beautiful Story </span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-long-happy-healthy-life-george-pollock/1109325304?ean=2940013933965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Long, Happy, Healthy Life</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">I, Cadaver</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/killers-george-pollock/1103017625?ean=2940012924865" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">Killers</span></a> </h2><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/YKZXtLxoe8o" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/YKZXtLxoe8o/something-tells-her-jane-12-year-old.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/01/something-tells-her-jane-12-year-old.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-373321502522340175Sun, 24 Nov 2013 02:22:00 +00002014-01-27T13:48:00.968-05:00" foster parents"aging outfoster carefoster kidsMassachusetts social servicessocial workstate wards New Day for Foster Kids: No Longer Dumped on the Street When They "Age Out." <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A morbid narcissistic mom hands her five kids, aged under a year to six, over to the state of Massachusetts and goes on to the good life of travel and fine restaurants. Here she is all dressed up as she celebrates Christmas without the responsibility of five kids.<br /><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oIjh3SEpMp0/Uo51EcBQVoI/AAAAAAAAD4A/RrgnWwdndGg/s1600/2012-11-30_06-07-11_904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oIjh3SEpMp0/Uo51EcBQVoI/AAAAAAAAD4A/RrgnWwdndGg/s200/2012-11-30_06-07-11_904.jpg" height="200" width="132" /></a></div>Meanwhile her kids live, or we should say <i>survive,</i> in ever changing foster homes of uncaring people who are in it for the money. As each "ages out," turns 18, the Massachusetts Department of Social Services considers them adults and no longer its responsibility.<br /><br />One after another, they find themselves on the street.<br /><br />Those five kids were me and my four younger siblings. I've written our story <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2009/09/family-saga-from-childhoods-in-foster.html">earlier</a>. But for now, read <i>this</i> story -- about a quiet, but breathtaking, revolution in foster care.<br /><br />It's about foster kids no longer "aging out," no longer dumped on the street, but actually treated as human beings by the state of Massachusetts. It's about the&nbsp; Massachusetts Network of Foster Care Alumni carrying out its remarkable vision: seeing that all former foster kids are "well-supported and well-connected throughout all phases of life."<br /><br />I learned of this when, out of the blue, I got an invitation from MassNFCA to attend a Thanksgiving dinner in Worcester for former foster kids. I thought: <i>What's this?</i><br /><br />Foster care alumni? State kids now honored guests? Thanksgiving dinner? Free? And at Maxwell Silverman's at Union Station, one of the best eating places in the city? I was skeptical. "My guess is that it's a fund-raiser," I said to my sister Ruby, "or it could be some kind of scam."<br /><br />She agreed.<br /><br />But I was curious. So was my sister Ruby. We decided to go. I called our two brothers, Reggie and Victor. Ruby called our sister Marion. All three passed, preferring not to be reminded of those horrendous early days when we were nothing but meal tickets. Ruby and I understood completely.<br /><br />I called the Director of MassNFCA, Grace Hilliard-Koshinsky, and told her that I, my wife Barbara, and my sister Ruby would be going. We got to talking and, to my utter amazement, she said that she is also one of five siblings, all of whom grew up in foster care. <br /><br />When she told me that the five of them had been "split up like puppies," as we had, I knew that she and the Alumni Thanksgiving was the real deal. The feeling was mutual. In a later email, Grace wrote: "I'm honored to read about your story, your siblings' stories, your family's story! We have a lot to talk about."<br /><br />Grace went on: "I promise you this event is happening.... There is no need to bring food. I greatly appreciate the offer though. This is taken care of.... Dress is celebratory! We're here to celebrate a community of alumni of all ages with great ambiance and good company."<br /><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></div><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></div>Besides being Director of MassNFCA, Grace is also an artist who expresses ideas and objects in metal as a "means to pass on knowledge."&nbsp; Click <a href="http://gracehilliardkoshinsky.com/">here</a> to see some of her works. In the photo below, she is preparing to teach a class in metallic art at Stonybrook Fine Arts.<br /><br /><img class="ready cursor-zoom-in" data-height="960" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcyvivG0Yf1qgumsko1_1280.jpg" data-src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcyvivG0Yf1qgumsko1_1280.jpg" data-width="1280" height="240" id="content-image" width="320" /></div><br />Now, drum roll please, Grace's remarkable Thanksgiving dinner for former foster kids. First, the setting. It was beautiful, fit for royalty. Yes, royalty. Second, the place was packed with former foster kids. Many of them, I quickly learned, are in college, made possible in large measure by MassNFCA.<br /><br />For me, this was breaking entirely new ground. While I had occasionally met former foster kids here and there over the years, I had never ever been in a room filled with former foster kids going to college and looking and acting like young people on their way up. I was pinching myself. Was this really happening?<br /><br />It was. Here is the gathering being addressed by Grace:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pboqb5q3zXU/Uo7Fl8wOiEI/AAAAAAAAD4U/8EEJWt0fPYQ/s1600/IMG_2305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pboqb5q3zXU/Uo7Fl8wOiEI/AAAAAAAAD4U/8EEJWt0fPYQ/s400/IMG_2305.JPG" height="281" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br />The food was wonderful -- from appetizers to a traditional roast turkey dinner with all the fixings.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pQHnlJ2idTk/Uo7JjEjCdLI/AAAAAAAAD4k/jrcSosiz9Ok/s1600/IMG_2340.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pQHnlJ2idTk/Uo7JjEjCdLI/AAAAAAAAD4k/jrcSosiz9Ok/s200/IMG_2340.JPG" height="200" width="170" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7zaGDBs7bio/Uo7Jz92hWrI/AAAAAAAAD4s/uGxLyihmKis/s1600/IMG_2316.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7zaGDBs7bio/Uo7Jz92hWrI/AAAAAAAAD4s/uGxLyihmKis/s320/IMG_2316.JPG" height="290" width="320" /></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Did I mention that all of this was FREE, nothing, nada? Even the parking was free with ticket validation on the way out. Nor was there anyone there hitting us up for money. And I thought that this could be a scam?<br /><br />Sorry, Grace!<br /><br />This Thanksgiving dinner for former foster kids is visible, unmistakeable proof that Massachusetts has left behind the old days of aging out and dumping foster kids on the streets where, in desperation, many routinely fell victim to crime, drugs, and hopelessness.<br /><br />Now MassNFCA's financial help for college and access to professional services gives former foster kids a chance for productive and happy lives, just like other young people lucky enough to have loving parents and stable homes.<br /><br />It is clearly a smart investment. The payoff for Massachusetts taxpayers and society, not to mention former foster kids themselves, is huge. Thanks to MassNFCA, these young people, instead of being financial and social drains, can get an education, go on to good jobs and professions, pay taxes, raise families, be <i>normal</i>. <br /><br />Take Nafis Delacruz, pictured here, who played the guitar and sang at the dinner.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FKziSZoHwqc/Uo7YsMDRVCI/AAAAAAAAD48/h3nUspW308g/s1600/IMG_2298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FKziSZoHwqc/Uo7YsMDRVCI/AAAAAAAAD48/h3nUspW308g/s320/IMG_2298.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br />If Nafis had been "aged out," he could easily have taken the low road. Instead, with the help of MassNFCA, he is a student at Salem State University while pursuing his love of music. He performs at many open mike nights in Salem and has done shows at Salem State University and Mcgann's Irish Pub in Boston.<br /><br />For Nafis, as with all the other former foster kids at this dinner, the sky is the limit. See that smile? It's real. He was smiling that way the whole time as he sang and went around the room chatting it up.<br /><br />Lest I come off as someone with his head in the clouds, I did have a couple of complaints. As I mentioned, the place was packed and the tables filled up fast -- except for ours. This was a young crowd and it appeared that no one wanted to sit at a table with a bald greybeard old enough to be their grandpa.<br /><br />I, my wife Barbara, and my sister Ruby had the table to ourselves. Our table got lookers, but no takers. Finally, feeling badly for us, Grace brought over two social workers to sit with us. She introduced us to Maureen Messeder and Mary Gabon, both of whom had been on the job for more than 30 years.<br /><br />I was thrilled. My only experience with social workers was as strangers who picked me up and drove me to a group home or placement. Now here I was as a full-fledged grownup sitting as equals with two of them. It was a pleasure meeting them and soon we were talking away, joking, and laughing.<br /><br />"Now that aging out at 18 is no longer," I said, "that means that I haven't aged out and I can get services if I need them, right?"<br /><br />Maureen and Mary both chuckled, though nervously.<br /><br />"I guess so," Maureen said, a little uneasily.<br /><br />"Great," I said. "So I can call and we'll explore my options?"<br /><br />"Of course," said Maureen, getting that I was kidding. And we had a hearty laugh.<br /><br />My second complaint was no coffee after dinner, young people not being coffee addicts like us old fogies. Maureen and Mary also missed the coffee. <br /><br />Later, as raffle winners were being announced, Grace called out my name. I went up and she handed me a Dunkin Donuts gift card for $25. I thanked her and quietly offered to tell the assembly the story of my childhood in foster care. "No more than forty-five minutes," I said.<br /><br />No response. I guess she didn't hear me.<br /><br />Here's a photo of me up front after receiving my gift card from Grace.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TuT7NE_Tb30/UpANFcyJqEI/AAAAAAAAD5M/W2CYCWqcZlk/s1600/IMG_2346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TuT7NE_Tb30/UpANFcyJqEI/AAAAAAAAD5M/W2CYCWqcZlk/s200/IMG_2346.JPG" height="200" width="171" /></a></div>Back at the table, I waved my gift card at Maureen and Mary. "Coffee complaint no more," I said. "You guys took care of it, right?"<br /><br />They nodded, winked, and giggled like a couple of teenage girls.<br /><br />"Oh, boy," I said, rubbing my hands happily. "My two social workers are already taking care of me."<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Xx8cHpvS03I/UpASbhIV9gI/AAAAAAAAD5c/FrgcR-D_kCc/s1600/IMG_2345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Xx8cHpvS03I/UpASbhIV9gI/AAAAAAAAD5c/FrgcR-D_kCc/s200/IMG_2345.JPG" height="180" width="200" /></a>Then Grace called my sister Ruby's name. She won a raffle prize too,&nbsp; twenty dollars cash.<br /><br />&nbsp;She came back with a big smile on her face. Here she is with the envelope in her hand, with Grace at the podium in the background.<br /><br />Ruby and I left amazed and delighted with what we had just experienced. When we were foster kids, it was something that we could never have imagined. <br /><br />Grace, congratulations. Thanks to your great commitment and hard work, this foster alumni Thanksgiving was a huge success. For all that you, Maureen, Mary and the rest of your staff do for foster kids, thank you, thank you, thank you.<br /><br />&nbsp;So long and keep moving.<br /><div style="text-align: center;">*** </div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">NOTE: George Pollock's novel,<u>&nbsp; State Kid: Hero of Literacy</u> is&nbsp; available as an E-book on Amazon's Kindle. </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ArbYrpsKhaA/TR_j1IDG-nI/AAAAAAAABPY/0Td8kq4Rifs/s1600/greg%252Cstatekid+cover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ArbYrpsKhaA/TR_j1IDG-nI/AAAAAAAABPY/0Td8kq4Rifs/s200/greg%252Cstatekid+cover.jpg" height="200" width="145" /></a></div><h2><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Billy Stone was a foster child.</span></h2><h2><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He ran away from abuse.</span></h2><h2><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He went to juvenile prison.</span></h2><h2><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He went up from there.</span></h2><h2><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And he did it his way.</span></h2><br /><b>&nbsp; Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> is the true story of a husband -- writing anonymously as "Elvis" -- who is dumped after 38 years of marriage and lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><u><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></u></b><u> <b>&nbsp;</b></u><br /><u><b>For the Barnes and Noble Nook</b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>:</b></span></u></div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-beautiful-story-george-pollock/1107730632?ean=2940013539464" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Beautiful Story </span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-long-happy-healthy-life-george-pollock/1109325304?ean=2940013933965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Long, Happy, Healthy Life</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">I, Cadaver</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/killers-george-pollock/1103017625?ean=2940012924865" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">Killers</span></a> </h2><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/UvMfIYE6uvk" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/UvMfIYE6uvk/new-day-for-foster-kids-no-longer.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)2http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/11/new-day-for-foster-kids-no-longer.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-801639629158913142Thu, 07 Nov 2013 18:55:00 +00002014-01-27T13:46:04.262-05:00Reliving the Old Days: A Sudden Phone Call, a Reunion, and Recalling One Fabulous Birthday Cake.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ABCL9XRP_3g/UnhMJYZSAnI/AAAAAAAAD1I/jcCCju_6B1I/s1600/img162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ABCL9XRP_3g/UnhMJYZSAnI/AAAAAAAAD1I/jcCCju_6B1I/s320/img162.jpg" height="247" width="320" /></a></div><br />It may not be X-rated, but it's at least "adults only." <br /><br />I'm talking about my 50th birthday cake 25 years ago at Terry Fucini's home in Cromwell, CT. Above, I proudly showed off the cake, oblivious to its obvious message: that, divorced and dating around, I had an eye for pretty women.<br /><br />Everybody knew this about me -- but me, I guess.<br /><br />Twenty-five years ago? Today that makes me -- how old? OMG!<br /><br />Forget that number, you hear?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UwTk5TeBnLM/UnhaMzJsf4I/AAAAAAAAD14/ttl_1HMDZTM/s1600/photo+2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UwTk5TeBnLM/UnhaMzJsf4I/AAAAAAAAD14/ttl_1HMDZTM/s200/photo+2.JPG" height="200" width="151" /></a>Back to the birthday cake. What brought it to my mind was a sudden phone call from a former work colleague, Terry Fucini, with whom I had not been in contact for 22 years. She was a co-conspirator with the cake's creator, Chuck Fulkerson, pictured at right.<br /><br />This was not a cake made from a mix, put in the oven and just served. This was a work of art, a creative wonder. It was not just the best birthday cake I ever had, it was the best I have ever <i>seen. </i>And the taste? To <i>die</i> for! <br /><br />Great cake, Chuck, you <i>artiste</i>, you <i>provocateur</i>!<br /><br />Way back then, the three of us were staff writers at American Education Publications in Middletown, CT -- publisher of Weekly Reader, Current Events, Read Magazine, and many other educational materials for American classrooms, grades 1 to 12.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LzGH0BZO1vI/UnhNhSQHz8I/AAAAAAAAD1U/cOq2rcwrwc4/s1600/img150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LzGH0BZO1vI/UnhNhSQHz8I/AAAAAAAAD1U/cOq2rcwrwc4/s200/img150.jpg" height="142" width="200" /></a></div>When I started at AEP in 1966, I was fresh from three year's teaching in Africa, Kenya and Nigeria. In the photo at left, I am with some of my students in Maiduguri, Northern Nigeria. A few months later, I was at AEP.<br /><br />I got the job after seeing an ad in The New York Times for a writer and submitted a story about life in Kenya. AEP liked the story, offered me a job, and soon I was writing for Read Magazine, Current Events,&nbsp; and social studies unit books.<br /><br />After teaching for a year, Terry also started at AEP in 1966. We were both 20-somethings out to make it with a major educational publisher whose periodicals and books were read in schools everywhere in the U.S. Altogether, Terry and I worked together for 26 years.<br /><br />Toward the end, with both of us having moved from editorial to the advertising department, we worked in the same office as advertising copywriters for ten years. As the company's fortunes declined and it downsized, Terry and I left within months of each other, early in 1992.<br /><br />On this long road together, despite deadlines and many other pressures, Terry and I got along with nary a bump. Maybe it was because we were so different in our approach to work. Terry enjoyed it. I gritted my teeth on it.<br /><br />Here's a couple of photos of us in the old days. See what I mean? Terry enjoying. Me gritting.<br /><br />Oh, all right. The truth is that Terry and I both worked hard and we both loved the work. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jkXU11cUM08/UnhYOejKp1I/AAAAAAAAD1k/0SKfdwV_3CI/s1600/IMG_2284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jkXU11cUM08/UnhYOejKp1I/AAAAAAAAD1k/0SKfdwV_3CI/s200/IMG_2284.JPG" height="200" width="165" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qcdWlU-Vt6Y/UnhYr7Mc09I/AAAAAAAAD1s/Qu1ynnuOEpk/s1600/IMG_2287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qcdWlU-Vt6Y/UnhYr7Mc09I/AAAAAAAAD1s/Qu1ynnuOEpk/s200/IMG_2287.JPG" height="167" width="200" /></a>But then, with my moving to Worcester, MA, and life being what it is,Terry and I lost touch with each other for all those years -- until one day, she called.<br /><br />My wife Barbara took the call and said, "Terry Fucini called. She said that somebody you worked with has died, but she didn't want to say who over the phone."<br /><br />Terry Fucini, I thought, and the memories of all those years working together flooded back. And when I called her back and she answered the phone, the voice was the same. She was the same person I had worked with longer than anybody else in this world -- my entire career in publishing, in fact.<br /><br />"Terry," I said. "Terry Fucini! I don't believe it! After all these years! I don't believe it!"<br /><br />But it was a very short conversation, actually no conversation. Neither one of us wanted to talk over the phone. The phone was too cold and remote for both of us. In this, we were on the same wave length, just as we were in the old days.<br /><br />Terry invited us to her place for dinner, gave us the date and time, and said that Chuck Fulkerson and Jerry Esposito and his wife Pat were also coming. Jerry was art director at our old company and later worked for Travelers, and taught art in college. Pat has been a teacher for many years. Both had just retired.<br /><br />"I'm not telling them about you coming," she said. "You are the mystery guest."<br /><br />And that was that.<br /><br />Barbara and I were the first to arrive at Terry's Cromwell, CT home where she has lived for over 40 years. Having lost her husband Jim to liver disease two years ago, Terry now lives alone in the spacious home in a very nice neighborhood.<br /><br />But she is not lonely. She has three grown kids and three grand kids, all nearby. "I also have lots of friends," she said.<br /><br />We talked while munching on all kinds of delicious appetizers. That's when Terry told me who had died. It was Nate Olshin, our longtime boss. She said that she had gone to see him in the care facility where he was living out his final days.<br /><br />Despite the natural boss-underling divide, Nate and I got along well. He pretty much left me alone to do my work. But then the company was sold and resold, there were repeated waves of layoffs, and the company's future turned bleak.<br /><br />Seeing the writing on the wall, I began freelancing with the idea of going out on my own. Nate knew, but looked the other way, such as when I published a freelance article in The New York Times Magazine (Nov. 8, 1987). Getting published in the Times is a big deal. Fellow staffers lined up outside my office to have me sign their copy. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2SmyjqtS51c/UnlhXe-O1zI/AAAAAAAAD3A/hXbONqP0gr4/s1600/img386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2SmyjqtS51c/UnlhXe-O1zI/AAAAAAAAD3A/hXbONqP0gr4/s200/img386.jpg" height="200" width="183" /></a></div>At left is a photo of me signing. <br /><br />Nate could do without my signature. But he did walk by during the signing -- a spontaneous thing on company time -- and gave me a little knowing nod. He knew what I was doing and why and did not interfere.<br /><br />While working full time, I was able to build up a list of clients and leave the company on my own timetable to operate my own business -- which I ran from a home office for several years.<br /><br />Thank you, Nate!<br /><br />And what did Terry do for the 22 years that she avoided me? For several years, she worked part time, just a day a week, as an advertising copywriter at Business and Legal Reports in nearby Madison. Then she did the same at S and S Worldwide in Colchester.<br /><br />Since losing Jim, Terry has focused on her three grown kids and three grand kids, friends, and doing just what she feels like doing. "For the first time," she told me in a later phone call, "I'm living like a man and I like it. I have freedom. I have privacy. I have food."<br /><br />The doorbell rang. Terry went to the door and ushered in Chuck Fulkerson, birthday cake creator <i>extraordinaire.</i> We had worked together for about seven years before he went on to work at Reader's Digest for many years. He came over and shook my hand, but didn't recognize me.<br /><br />But then he did. "George! George Pollock!" And he took me in his arms and gave me a long, long, tight, tight hug. Like his cake, Chuck's hug is, shall we say, over the top. <br /><br />Jerry Esposito and his wife Pat arrived and we were all soon seated at the dining table eating a delicious meal that Terry cooked herself: roast pork chops, squash casserole, green beans, baked apples, choice of wines, and for dessert ice cream with hot fudge drizzle.<br /><br />Yummy. And besides preparing everything herself, Terry did all the serving. In the photo below, our gourmet cook, server, and hostess is on the job.<br /><br />The conversation was easy, relaxed, and nonstop.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-umKBuS1okPs/UnhpyCkiw_I/AAAAAAAAD2I/7cteWuCLpHw/s1600/IMG_2205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-umKBuS1okPs/UnhpyCkiw_I/AAAAAAAAD2I/7cteWuCLpHw/s320/IMG_2205.JPG" height="205" width="320" /></a></div><br />A great time was had by all.<br /><br />Thank you, Terry!<br /><br />This story should be over now, but is not --&nbsp; because of an implausible coincidence. It turned out that both Terry and Barbara and I had tickets to the Goodspeed Opera House in Haddam, CT to see "A Most Happy Fella" on the same day, at the same afternoon performance!&nbsp; <br /><br />What are the chances of that? <br /><br />Anyway, we left Terry's home agreeing to meet at the Goodspeed, which we did a week later. We saw a great show, met up with Terry and her two neighbors, Carol and Gail, and had a barrel of laughs. Here's a photo of all of us outside the Goodspeed:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BTCI7gdk6Z0/UnlRwphd02I/AAAAAAAAD2s/Zg8yGtc95-4/s1600/IMG_2241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BTCI7gdk6Z0/UnlRwphd02I/AAAAAAAAD2s/Zg8yGtc95-4/s320/IMG_2241.JPG" height="302" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />From left to right are: my wife Barbara, neighbor Gail, Terry, me, and neighbor Carol. Four pretty girls and me! That's what I like, man -- all the babes fighting for my attention!&nbsp; <br /><br />Chuck, do you see another birthday cake here?&nbsp; Maybe for my 80th?<br /><br />Only thing is, could you make it so I can show it to my grand kids? <br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><div style="font: 12px Helvetica; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b></span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on the author's real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></span><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Link to Terry Photo:<br /><br /><span id="goog_1826975275"></span>http://www.flickr.com/photos/geopollock/10660063286/<br /><br /><br /><span id="goog_1826975276"></span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/HwyB5V2Nz4U" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/HwyB5V2Nz4U/reliving-old-days-sudden-phone-call.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/11/reliving-old-days-sudden-phone-call.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-8673073471083880632Mon, 14 Oct 2013 17:22:00 +00002014-08-25T13:48:20.611-04:00aorta dissectionMass General Hospitalmedical miraclesNantucketRoss RaganRoss Ragan Beats Death: Why Is He Alive Today When His Doctors Said It Was All But Impossible?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It is now nearly a year, November 20, 2012, since Ross Ragan, 55, walked out of Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston after suffering a sudden and massive aorta dissection that only one in a hundred survives. Ross not only survived, but today walks several miles a day and looks forward to a long, healthy life. </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Actually, he was out walking in downtown Nantucket when I recently met him and heard his story. I was spending a few days on the island with my friend Bill, who lives year round on the island as does Ross. </span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ziKPI2qymU/Uk4IWEcaTSI/AAAAAAAADx8/GPZ5jc7r4vE/s1600/IMG_2005.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ziKPI2qymU/Uk4IWEcaTSI/AAAAAAAADx8/GPZ5jc7r4vE/s320/IMG_2005.JPG" height="320" width="192" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was stunned by what he told me. "I'm interested in writing your story," I said. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Sure."</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Mind if I take your picture?"</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"No, go ahead."</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In the photo at right, Ross is in blue with Nantucket on the front. My friend Bill poses with him. On my last day in Nantucket, Ross and I met and talked for an hour and a half in the Transportation Center while I waited for the ferry.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He is pictured below in the Center.</span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P_dHEy7Z2bU/UlCx09bG8lI/AAAAAAAADyc/ZPIKrIxd6eA/s1600/IMG_2053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P_dHEy7Z2bU/UlCx09bG8lI/AAAAAAAADyc/ZPIKrIxd6eA/s320/IMG_2053.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Ross's story is unusual and powerful. It is multi-dimensional, involving the fragility of life, the love of a husband and wife, and questions as big as they come.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Does Ross owe his odds-beating survival to amazing luck? Top medical care? Or, as Ross fervently believes, is he alive today because of a miracle of God? </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">On that fateful day one year ago, Ross Ragan and his wife Trina were so happy. The day before, their daughter in California had given birth to her third child, a boy, little Timmy. Trina, who was on the west coast to support their daughter, had called Ross in Nantucket with the great news.</span></span><br /><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The couple had recently moved into their new rental home on the storied island. Ironically, just as his life was about to be turned upside down, the house, said Ross, was</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> an "upside down house."</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The typical floor plan was reversed, placing the bedrooms and common living areas on the second floor, instead of the first, where Ross and Trina look out on a thick forest of scrub oak. But on the second floor, with lots of windows, they enjoy a great view of the ocean. Ross says that the floor plan may seem foreign at first, but "an upside down house changes what you see and from a totally different perspective."</span> </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">However, at the moment, their home was mostly empty and "in desperate need of furnishing." Ross's job now was getting their new place looking a little more like home for when Trina arrived back on island in two weeks. He went right to work. That evening, after a busy day in the house, he went to bed tired, but happy. He gave thanks to God, turned the light off, and closed his eyes.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But he didn't fall asleep. Instead, "thoughts&nbsp; just came to my mind," he said, and he felt inspired to write them down. He got out of bed, picked up his laptop, and typed the following: &nbsp;</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>One thing I have come to realize in a fresh way, is that change can often be a good thing. Everything changes in one way or another. It is often by one's own hand that change is set in motion to cause a desired affect, with the outcome hopefully, weighing strongly on the positive side of the scale. On the flip side, uncontrollable circumstances act as reckless, circus cannoneers, hurling us through the air, only to land in undesirable places.</i></span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He pondered those words and fell asleep.&nbsp;</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1390849533" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">November 20th</span></span> was a glorious morning, a perfect fall day in Ross's estimation:</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Crisp is probably the best word to describe it, with deep blue skies, cool morning air, and a gentle breeze. I always seem to feel better on those kind of days. I prayed a bit, had my morning oatmeal and a fruit smoothie, then headed out into town. Trina had sent me info on some local estate sales and yard sales on the island for me to check out that day. So that was my mission, to find some good deals, and that I did.&nbsp; </span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"After dropping off my finds back at the house, I returned into town to have a bite to eat before venturing back to catch another moving sale. I found a perfect piece that we had been looking for. I asked the owner if he could help me move it down the stairs to my truck, and he gladly obliged." </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But at the bottom of the stairs, Ross felt a sudden, strange change in his body. "I felt as if someone had pressed their hands around my throat, my heart was palpitating and beating extremely hard and fast, and my right leg was in excruciating&nbsp; pain."</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Then he had trouble breathing. Gasping for air, he struggled to walk. <i>What was happening?</i>&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Fumbling for his cell phone, he called Trina. </span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"There’s something going on in my body," he said. "I’m having trouble breathing. My right leg is in a huge cramp. My heart is palpitating like crazy. I think it’s my heart.&nbsp; Will you please pray for me?"</span><br /><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ross and Trina prayed together over the phone. </span><br /><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"In the past," said Ross, "we have both seen God do amazing miracles and we believed that he could do it again, this time for me. But things did not get better; they got worse." </span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Ross remained reasonably calm, yet many serious thoughts began to flood his mind. <i>What is happening? What should I do? What if I don’t survive this?</i></span><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Will I leave my wife behind? With Trina 3,000 miles away, will I be unable to hold her one more time?</span></i></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><br />After growing up in Chatham, Mass. on Cape Cod, Ross explored a musical career, various business ventures, traveled extensively, and eventually settled in Southern California. There he met and married Trina, today his wife of nearly thirty years.<br /><br />Most of those years were spent in Massachusetts where they raised two children.&nbsp; The couple has spent most of their marriage in Massachusetts, mostly on the North Shore. They now have four grandchildren. <br /><br />Ross and Trina moved to Nantucket in 2011 "to share the Gospel with all those who will listen." For the&nbsp; two years prior to the incident, they had been live-in caretakers on a large estate. Trina currently works for a local gas company and has written a children's book<a href="http://www.amazon.com/SHADOW-Adventures-Very-Special-Crayon/dp/0988734702"></a>, "Shadow."&nbsp; It is an illustrated story of a very different crayon and is available on Amazon.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JEWv9HoVrXc/UlsqI2Zf1xI/AAAAAAAADzM/rIbLt9oTkm4/s1600/shadowcover2012PDF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JEWv9HoVrXc/UlsqI2Zf1xI/AAAAAAAADzM/rIbLt9oTkm4/s200/shadowcover2012PDF.jpg" height="153" width="200" /></a></div><br />Ross has worked in "various vocational venues over the years, not to obtain wealth or material things, but to provide for family and have a means to share the good news of Christ." <br /><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ross and Trina are also artists. They are very involved in the arts community and sell their art work locally on Nantucket. Here are two Nantucket examples of their work, the first showing Brandt Point&nbsp; and the other depicting the Serengeti. </span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i-A6JX_1VRc/UlwlhXFQQ9I/AAAAAAAADzk/5hwPLYqlDVc/s1600/brandt+point+new.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i-A6JX_1VRc/UlwlhXFQQ9I/AAAAAAAADzk/5hwPLYqlDVc/s320/brandt+point+new.jpg" height="185" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Qt2o6Yxz-k/UlwluWTbo5I/AAAAAAAADzs/WRXFGF-71OU/s1600/serengetti2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Qt2o6Yxz-k/UlwluWTbo5I/AAAAAAAADzs/WRXFGF-71OU/s320/serengetti2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"I stopped going to doctors back in 2005," said Ross, "after a momentous event." </span></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> In 1997, Trina was in a major car accident with multiple injuries. After her injuries healed, after physical therapy, she still had&nbsp;&nbsp; severe chronic pain throughout her entire body.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After seeing many doctors and specialists, Trina was finally diagnosed by Dr. George Papanicolaou in Rowley, MA. She had fibromyalgia, he said, and it has no cure. The disease has varying degrees of pain and discomfort. In Trina’s case, she was on the severe end of the scale, experiencing excruciating pain from head to toe 24/7.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She was put on Oxycontin, but it did little to relieve her constant severe pain. She could no longer drive. She had great difficulty doing any kind of physical activity, even brushing her hair. This relentless battle&nbsp; went on for about seven years without relief&nbsp; -- until one evening in June 2005.&nbsp;</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ross described what happened:</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"We were attending a prison ministry meeting one evening and we were about ready to leave because Trina was in so much pain. The chaplain's mother-in-law Stella (whom we knew) asked Trina how she was feeling. Trina replied that she was “still in a lot of pain” and needed to go home to lie down.</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"Stella asked her if she could pray for her before she went home. Trina agreed. While praying, Trina felt a warmth go through her entire body and all the pain left her body in one moment. The next day, she was spiking a volley ball at an outing with some friends. From that prayer until this day, she has been pain free.&nbsp; </span></span></span><br /><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"Christ miraculously healed my wife in an instant after nearly seven years of a painful, incurable, debilitating disease. Despite all the doctors saying there was no hope," Ross said, "Trina proved them all wrong."</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Given Trina's experience, Ross was torn: God? Doctors? Both? But he was in such awful pain that he finally called the Nantucket medical clinic and drove himself there, just under a mile. Stumbling from his car to the emergency room entrance, two nurses met him with a wheel chair and questions.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br /><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">With his vision obstructed with "bright white internal flashes," the nurses called for a gurney and rushed him to an examination room.&nbsp; There, he got more questions, medications, a quick CT scan.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Though fading quickly, he was still alert enough to notice that he was given nitroglycerine. "Is this a heart attack?" Ross asked the doctor on duty.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"No, your heart looks fine," the doctor said.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"So what happened?"&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The doctor didn't answer. Then he was handed the test results. After reviewing them, he said, "I think it's your aorta."&nbsp; &nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"I immediately knew what he was talking about," Ross said. "Twelve&nbsp; years prior, I received a disturbing phone call informing me that my mother had just been rushed to Mass General in Boston. She had a partial aortic dissection. Doctors gave her a 50/50 chance of survival at best. By the grace of God, she survived." </span></span></div></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">One kind nurse was by Ross's side holding his hand and assuring him that he was going to be okay, when another nurse entered the room. This nurse was deadly serious. "She asked if they could put me on a helicopter and fly me to Mass General in Boston and that it needed to be done as soon as possible."</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“Only if I get to help fly the helicopter,” Ross said jokingly. In a few moments, he was unconscious. Three thousand miles away, in California, wife Trina gave permission for her husband to be helicoptered to Mass General Hospital in Boston. First chance, she flew to Boston to be with her husband.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Fifty-five minutes later, Ross awoke for a few seconds, saw two friendly faces hovering over him, heard&nbsp; helicopter rotors, then blacked out. His next connection with reality was 24 hours later in Boston's Mass General cardiac intensive care unit. Ross's wife and a close friend from Cambridge were there by his side as he came to.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He had just undergone an eight-hour surgery.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">His body had been slashed and stuffed with tubes and IV’s. He was wired up to high tech devices to monitor his condition. Below is what he looked like.</span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U7L-H41aWQk/UldRswDMw-I/AAAAAAAADy8/28wkg31LRG8/s1600/_ui=2&amp;ik=b29aecdb7d&amp;view=att&amp;th=14135f9ff46f052f&amp;attid=0-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U7L-H41aWQk/UldRswDMw-I/AAAAAAAADy8/28wkg31LRG8/s1600/_ui=2&amp;ik=b29aecdb7d&amp;view=att&amp;th=14135f9ff46f052f&amp;attid=0-001.jpg" /></a></span></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Yet soon he was coherent enough to recognize his wife Trina. "I had never been so glad to see her," Ross said. "She told me that everything went well, yet I still did not know what had happened."</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">That job fell to the heart surgeon who operated on him, Dr. Jennifer Walker. "As simply as she could, she told me what had just taken place on me."</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><br /><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">His entire aorta had dissected, Dr. Walker told Ross. "It looked like you got hit by a bolt of lightning from your brain to your feet."&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">She explained to Ross that this kind of dissection was "extremely rare and that, historically, the mortality rate is 99 percent."&nbsp; It was what the actor John Ritter died of, Dr. Walker said.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The cardiac nurse in charge at the time told Ross and Trina that the last person at the hospital with an extreme aortic dissection left the hospital "brain dead and paralyzed from the waist down." </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Dr. Walker told Ross that his heart was stopped and bypassed for eight hours and then jump-started. To keep the aorta from bursting&nbsp; -- and causing Ross to bleed to death -- a rayon tube was grafted to his aorta where it initially began to dissect. But&nbsp; nothing could be done to repair the rest of the aorta.</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Ross was kept sedated for two days in intensive care, then moved to his own room. Dr. Walker and her team of specialists all concurred that Ross was an extremely lucky man. One doctor told him during that visit,&nbsp; "You need to understand something -- this was divine intervention."&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Ross fully agreed. While thanking his doctors and nurses for all they had done for him, he added, "but I know that the only reason that I’m alive is because of my heavenly Father. He saved my life."&nbsp; </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Doctors and staff who treated Ross at Mass General in Boston -- one of the most respected hospitals in the U.S. -- all agreed that his outcome&nbsp; was "amazing."&nbsp; They considered his being released from intensive care within two days "remarkable."&nbsp; </span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">With wife Trina by his side, Ross recuperated in Mass General Hospital for nine days before being released. He considered himself, and was seen by hospital staff, as a walking miracle. For nine days, Ross said he had "a wonderful opportunity to share my faith in Yeshua, (Jesus) with the doctors, staff, family and friends." </span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Ross was sent home with an assorted batch of medications. He was told they were essential for his survival. He took them for about two weeks after arriving home, but with a great deal of trouble. "My whole body broke out in intense hives," he said, "and I would suffer unbearable heart palpitations, sometimes for hours on end. Basically, the drugs that were supposed to help heal me, were killing me."</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">After two weeks or so of this suffering, Ross decided to stop the meds and trust Yeshua (Jesus) with his healing. "I decided that my heavenly Father, the creator of this universe in all it’s incredible splendor, is better able to heal me. The thought of trusting pills over trusting God with my life became quite absurd to me."</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Ross considers his brush with death as one of the best things that has ever happened to him. "It has drawn me closer to my savior in a way that I cannot describe," he said. "It has brought restoration and healing to me that perhaps could not have happened in any other way. It has enabled me to touch people that I never could have otherwise."</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He says it was "the mighty hand of God reaching down to me in my broken state and taking hold of my hand, and leading me on to a deeper walk with Him, and experiencing His enormous love and tender mercy for me."&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Let's end with a photo of the miracle couple, Ross and Trina.</span></span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vXWqdxBZCY4/UlwlH2QZwII/AAAAAAAADzc/KmIW0aEFxMo/s1600/rt2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vXWqdxBZCY4/UlwlH2QZwII/AAAAAAAADzc/KmIW0aEFxMo/s320/rt2013.jpg" height="320" width="308" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">So long and keep moving.</span></span></div><div style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-family: Helvetica; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times,&quot;Times New Roman&quot;,serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">P.S. To learn more about aorta dissection, view this <a href="http://cardiac-surgery.med.nyu.edu/conditions-we-treat/aortic-dissection">video:</a></span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div style="text-align: left;">NOTE:<i> Something Tells Her, </i>my new e-book, is now available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HMUD0WG">Amazon.&nbsp;&nbsp;</a><br /><br />Jane is abandoned as a baby and raised in multiple horrific foster homes. After her latest abuse, a sexual advance from her latest foster parent, she screams "NO!" and runs out the door Twelve years old, on the street, alone, no family, nobody, no money, how can she possibly survive? She can't -- except that Jane&nbsp; is no ordinary foster kid. She doesn't understand "can't." Read <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2014/01/something-tells-her-jane-12-year-old.html">excerpts.</a> <br /><br /><br /><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-miV30KTftF0/Uf55dXVJF-I/AAAAAAAADug/eQ88d_ssp_4/s200/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" height="200" width="141" /></div><div style="font: 12px Helvetica; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on the author's real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/wy38cqaKDqg" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/wy38cqaKDqg/ross-ragan-beats-death-why-is-he-alive.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/10/ross-ragan-beats-death-why-is-he-alive.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-1135275854705837919Thu, 19 Sep 2013 17:45:00 +00002014-09-15T19:08:47.192-04:00NantucketNantucket ferryNantucket stone workVisiting NantucketOn Nantucket Island: Wandering Around A Beautiful, Storied Isle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">"It's time," said my friend Bill, who lives on Nantucket. As a youngster he spent carefree, adventurous summers on the island, earning the nickname "Surfer Bill."&nbsp; Now supposedly grownup, he reminded me that it had been some time, a couple of years actually, since I had been out to Nantucket. <br /><br />"You're right," I said. "I'm coming."<br /><br />"When?" With good reason, Bill doesn't believe everything I say.<br /><br />I said I would call him back with a date and, to his surprise, I did. The next surprise came when, on the appointed day, September 10, I actually walked off the afternoon ferry to a waiting Bill.<br /><br />It was the start of a fabulous three days, with Bill and I doing what we want when we want. With Bill's wife Tracy working and my wife Barbara back home in Worcester, we were completely unsupervised, planning nothing, making it up as we went.<br /><br />Let's start before I even got to Nantucket, in Hyannis. First, I had to park my car. "Don't park at the ferry center," said Bill. "Too expensive. Park at the Hyannis Transportation Center."<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a65Vv9FQI-M/UjTCayod0-I/AAAAAAAADvk/QUscc2cc8sE/s1600/IMG_2055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a65Vv9FQI-M/UjTCayod0-I/AAAAAAAADvk/QUscc2cc8sE/s200/IMG_2055.JPG" height="200" width="196" /></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-po4AvVGsOOY/UjTBLbNjBvI/AAAAAAAADvY/B0_p_9DT76c/s1600/IMG_2054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-po4AvVGsOOY/UjTBLbNjBvI/AAAAAAAADvY/B0_p_9DT76c/s200/IMG_2054.JPG" height="189" width="200" /></a><br />So I did. I paid $6 a day instead of $20 a day, or $18 as opposed to $60. That's 42 bucks in my pocket. Thanks, Bill.<br /><br />But for it to work, you need to have luggage on wheels. The Transportation Center is a 15 or 20 minute walk up to Main Street. Unless you are Hercules or just a plain show-off, that distance with heavy luggage is too far.<br /><br />After parking, I wandered up and down Main Street, Hyannis. It was a beautiful fall day and Main Street was packed with people, gawking, sitting, eating, whiling away time. Most were senior citizens, not young like me. But I resolved to be respectful of these oldies.<br /><br />I was hungry. Bill suggested a place called Common Ground.&nbsp; "Good food and prices," he said, "but they take their time. In other words, they're slow. But I hang out there and they don't care."<br /><br />I walked the length of Main Street and didn't see the Common Ground. With street level view blocked by an awning, I walked right by it. I saw it on the way back, but another place with outdoor seating caught my eye.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tIzeLMgrHGo/UjT6aVaa2RI/AAAAAAAADv0/IkaBwDxE_JA/s1600/IMG_1990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tIzeLMgrHGo/UjT6aVaa2RI/AAAAAAAADv0/IkaBwDxE_JA/s200/IMG_1990.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>It was a hotdog place, Hot Diggity Dogs. I never eat hotdogs. But I decided to have a hotdog with mustard, relish, and onion. Will one hot dog kill me? I don't think so.<br /><br />The owner, shown at left, is from Shanghai and he waited on me as if I&nbsp; really was George Francis Pollock the Third of the Pollock royal line of my imagination.<br /><br />Never leaving the window, he watched me the whole time I was eating. With each bite of his hotdog, I made facial and hand gestures of exquisite delight. He waved back, smiling nonstop. <br /><br />Hot dog gulped down, I got up to put my paper plate and napkin in the trash. The owner ran out and bowing and saying, "No, no, please. I do that for you," and he took the paper waste out of my hand.&nbsp; Backing away, bowing, smiling, saying "thank you, thank you," he treated me as if I really was Prince George.<br /><br />If he only knew.<br /><br />Next, I was on the ferry to Nantucket and here is the scene as the ferry pulled out of Hyannis:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R7_Q5ELl39U/UjUBzKch34I/AAAAAAAADwE/Y64vGaV8H08/s1600/IMG_1995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R7_Q5ELl39U/UjUBzKch34I/AAAAAAAADwE/Y64vGaV8H08/s400/IMG_1995.JPG" height="230" width="400" /></a></div>I enjoyed a leisurely two and a half hours reading my New York Times and drinking coffee along with a huge oatmeal-raisin cookie. Will one oatmeal-raisin cookie kill me? I don't think so.<br /><br />I tell you, sitting alone on a ferry to Nantucket is as relaxing as it gets. You sit, sip black coffee, munch on a cookie, breathe deeply, and ruminate. No need for conversation or good behavior. You are alone, yet not alone, with lots of other people on board to look at and wonder about.<br /><br />What's his story? What's her story? Look at that interesting elderly couple. Do they live on Nantucket or are they just visiting like me? A ferry to Nantucket has both the relaxation of solitude and the stimulation of being with other people. In no time, it seemed, the ferry was in Nantucket and I was walking ashore and exchanging waves with my friend Bill.<br /><br />As usual, he greeted me with an impish smile.<br /><br />"You made it," Bill said as we shook hands. <br /><br />"I'm here, finally,"&nbsp; I said, matching his three words.<br /><br />"Get in," he ordered. I climbed into Bill's van and we bounced through the cobblestone streets of downtown Nantucket. Here is view of Main Street:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-INk_1FZelnM/UjUTSczpf2I/AAAAAAAADwU/ArSUHAZZh-Y/s1600/IMG_2046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-INk_1FZelnM/UjUTSczpf2I/AAAAAAAADwU/ArSUHAZZh-Y/s320/IMG_2046.JPG" height="171" width="320" /></a></div><br />Having been friends for neigh on 25 years, Bill and I understand each other. We don't need to talk much. I know he's different. He knows I'm different. We needle each other nonstop. I make him out to be a social misfit and he does the same with me. However, we both think that the real crazies are everybody else. <br /><br />Yet the greatest ridicule is reserved for each other. A perfect example was when we went out to breakfast together at a place where Bill goes regularly and is known by the staff. When the waitress gave us menus, she pointed at me and said to Bill, with a perfectly straight face, "Is this your father?"<br /><br />I went into open-mouthed shock. Bill roared with laughter. I never saw him laugh so hard. The waitress clamped a hand on her mouth and ran off. I glared at Bill.<br /><br />&nbsp;"You okay, <i>daaaaad</i>?" he asked, drawing out the "dad" and loving it.<br /><br />"You... you... you're going to get yours," I said menacingly.<br /><br />When we were leaving, I said to the waitress, "Listen, if my kid here causes trouble, come to me, you hear? I'll take care of him."<br /><br />All three of us had a hearty laugh.<br /><br />Bill is a man of few words. Never from his own mouth will you hear of the incredible things he can do with wood. Nor will he volunteer a word about how he has meticulously studied the human body in order to create realistic sculptures of the human face.<br /><br />You have to pull it out of him. Though few people know it, Bill is a talented artist. Please ... please, you didn't hear this from me. My job is to put him down, not up.<br /><br />Obeying my order to "get over there and smile," Bill posed with a couple of his works. The small sculpture is of the human body in minute detail. "If you don't understand the human body," said Bill, "you can't possibly create an accurate sculpture of the human face."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1W6uHW4VcHE/UjitBz15ueI/AAAAAAAADwk/S9-IadtmxxM/s1600/IMG_2052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1W6uHW4VcHE/UjitBz15ueI/AAAAAAAADwk/S9-IadtmxxM/s1600/IMG_2052.JPG" height="176" width="200" /></a></div>Bill also did a sculpture of me that is on the desk in my mancave where I work. As I write this, the sculpture is staring at me. I don't think it captures my good looks, though everybody says that Bill has nailed my facial expression.<br /><br />Just what I want to hear. Oh,well.<br /><br />Still, I used Bill's sculpture of my face, below, for the cover of my e-book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO">I, Cadaver</a>.&nbsp; It is about the body donation program at the University of Massachusetts Medical School in Worcester, Mass. where I live.&nbsp; It is where, after I die in 50 years or so, I will be raising hell as a cadaver. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mpgokxR2_Kk/UjiyOuPu-7I/AAAAAAAADw0/Po9Ss6ww9ck/s1600/george+p+3809+v4+text+clsd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mpgokxR2_Kk/UjiyOuPu-7I/AAAAAAAADw0/Po9Ss6ww9ck/s1600/george+p+3809+v4+text+clsd.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div><br />For the next few days, Bill and I swam at a nearby indoor pool, hiked for miles, rode bikes to the beach, and hung out. All of it was spur-of-the-moment.<br /><br />Most of the time, we hung out together. But sometimes, when Bill had things to do, I went nosing around Nantucket on my own -- which I love doing.<br /><br />Bill is in great shape. He swims at a fast pace, arms churning and kicking nonstop for a half hour or more. But I made a point of swimming just as long, if not as fast. No way was I going to get out of the water before he did.<br /><br />We hiked for miles on beautiful, lush, woodsy trails. More than half of Nantucket is thick forest and open space. As with the swimming, Bill pushed it, obviously trying to show me up. Well, Bill, you didn't -- but nice try anyway.<br /><br />Evenings we had healthy meals homemade by Bill's wife Tracy. After working all day at the Nantucket Historical Society, Tracy came straight home and started preparing dinner.<br /><br />Our wives are carbon copies of each other. Both are serious, sensitive, planners, and perfectionists.&nbsp;&nbsp; Bill and I are their exact opposites, though he is a perfectionist in his art. I am imperfection <i>par excellence. </i><br /><br />We were joined each evening by Bill's and Tracy's son Tyler who lives on his own and works on island as an electrician. After eating, we repaired to the living room for a movie festival using the Roku internet system set up by Tyler. It offers all kinds of movies dirt cheap&nbsp; -- my kind of movie watching.<br /><br />Finally, in my wanderings on my own around Nantucket when Bill was working, I could not help but admire the beautiful stone work that I found everywhere. I'm a rock hound and Nantucket is a rock hound's paradise. Here are a couple of photos of stone work that caught my eye:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HkDOwqbsDAc/UjpU_ioduLI/AAAAAAAADxU/iFMBNMg1nIs/s1600/IMG_2019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HkDOwqbsDAc/UjpU_ioduLI/AAAAAAAADxU/iFMBNMg1nIs/s1600/IMG_2019.JPG" height="261" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zx87Bs9yK1Y/UjpVbe8PgnI/AAAAAAAADxc/E4vqFiga-YE/s1600/IMG_2034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zx87Bs9yK1Y/UjpVbe8PgnI/AAAAAAAADxc/E4vqFiga-YE/s1600/IMG_2034.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br />The first photo is from downtown Main Street. Walking on it feels like being one with nature. The second photo is a driveway that is also a work of art and a thing of beauty. It's a Nantucket&nbsp; kind of driveway. <br /><br />I went home to my standard ugly blacktop. I want a Nantucket kind of driveway!<br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><b>P.S.</b> For an earlier story on Nantucket's history and traditions, and why "off-islanders" like me are the lowest form of life on the island, click <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2009/06/nantucket-snapshot-innocent-off.html">here. </a><br /><br /><b>Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/X6zNSKtGW8c" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/X6zNSKtGW8c/on-nantucket-island-wandering-around.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/09/on-nantucket-island-wandering-around.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-1078023700849604650Wed, 07 Aug 2013 15:33:00 +00002013-10-01T19:32:57.839-04:00coffeehouse culturecreative writingE-BooksEdmondsfamily funGeorge Pollock E-booksgrandchildrenStarbucksIn Edmonds, Washington: Natural Beauty, Grandkids, and a Corner Office at Starbucks.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: small;">Edmonds</span>, Washington -- unless you live there or thereabouts, it probably won't mean much to you. But if I wrote "Seattle, Washington," which is a mere 11 miles south, a light goes on.You think the Space Needle, rainy weather, Starbucks, and Amazon, right?<br /><br />Edmonds? Blank. <br /><br />That's how it used to be for me -- until our daughter and her husband and three kids moved to Edmonds three years ago.&nbsp; Since then, Barbara and I have been spending&nbsp; time in Edmonds -- recently returning from three weeks there -- and we're beginning to fall in love with it.<br /><br />First, the beauty. Here's the family enjoying the beach, a short walk from downtown. Barbara is sitting on the log. In front of her are, from the left, son-in-law Ed, daughter Misha, granddaughters Mia, Talula, Bella, and far right, grandson Max.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XvefesKanwY/Ufwe-G1rB3I/AAAAAAAADpg/jjFkrogdkt8/s1600/IMG_1743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XvefesKanwY/Ufwe-G1rB3I/AAAAAAAADpg/jjFkrogdkt8/s320/IMG_1743.JPG" width="320" />&nbsp;</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here are a couple more beach scenes:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-omDZxn-WbwA/UfwjB1PSS0I/AAAAAAAADpw/_UqxZRDa1hg/s1600/IMG_1849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-omDZxn-WbwA/UfwjB1PSS0I/AAAAAAAADpw/_UqxZRDa1hg/s400/IMG_1849.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oFFIt4PeS5Y/Ufwk2AXIL6I/AAAAAAAADqI/krveERXf_0U/s320/IMG_1838.JPG" width="320" />&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Misha can't help taking photos. In addition to being a photographer, she is also an interior designer, painter, and -- a sure sign that she also has her feet on the ground -- a real estate agent. Some of her paintings, below, are on sale in a popular downtown cafe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0l3JezHGLe4/Uf0F1_kIFOI/AAAAAAAADtQ/YrV6rdT8MwQ/s1600/IMG_1821-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0l3JezHGLe4/Uf0F1_kIFOI/AAAAAAAADtQ/YrV6rdT8MwQ/s320/IMG_1821-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />Not only did Misha and Ed house us in Edmonds, but Misha also took on a project for my sister Ruby: a sign for her Oxford, Mass. lakeside cottage. The job: make it something to be proud of and to last at least forever. We gave her the size. She did the rest.<br /><br />Misha picked the wood (cedar), type (color and size) and background (of her own making). Most creative and remarkable of all, she drew and then painted in red, white and blue the Pollock symbol: a fish. Then, to weatherize, she sprayed front and back with polyurethane over a few days, letting the surface dry after each application.<br /><br />It was an original work of art. It bowled me over. When I showed it to Ruby, her jaw dropped. It was the sign of her dreams. Everybody else in the family loved it too. Now, drum roll please, here is the new sign for Ruby's cottage:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QRx06FQ9kQc/Uf6CuNbQsFI/AAAAAAAADuw/lYQRU-76Y4w/s1600/IMG_1893-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QRx06FQ9kQc/Uf6CuNbQsFI/AAAAAAAADuw/lYQRU-76Y4w/s320/IMG_1893-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />Below left, grandkids Aidan and Nathaniel, are shown enjoying the lake at Pollock Place.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NEvu3AOPFwo/UfxHkil5Q8I/AAAAAAAADrY/kkwD1JmBUO0/s1600/IMG_1892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NEvu3AOPFwo/UfxHkil5Q8I/AAAAAAAADrY/kkwD1JmBUO0/s200/IMG_1892.JPG" width="160" /></a>They swim and net our little fish friends for hours.<br /><br />I also have my own personal doctor in Edmonds, Dr. Bella.&nbsp; Here she is giving me my regular physical exam. She is very thorough and does it all.&nbsp; Last summer, with her brother Max assisting, she gave me a heart transplant.<br /><br />For this exam, Dr. Bella's sister Talula assisted.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ymt6YZhhbg8/UfxIt-9sb4I/AAAAAAAADro/aAuGLDhAb74/s1600/IMG_1724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ymt6YZhhbg8/UfxIt-9sb4I/AAAAAAAADro/aAuGLDhAb74/s200/IMG_1724.JPG" width="161" /></a><br />Dr. Bella pronounced me healthy and well, though she was concerned about my age. She gave me a prescription for a cough.<br /><br />When Talula is not assisting Dr. Bella, she screams bloody murder when things don't go her way. I got into a tiff with her over a drink of apple juice. I stood my ground and kept the drink. Then I got her another drink and we made up.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CBTu91YmwGo/UfxLoy61QwI/AAAAAAAADr4/g-sykO8tLSE/s1600/IMG_1828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CBTu91YmwGo/UfxLoy61QwI/AAAAAAAADr4/g-sykO8tLSE/s200/IMG_1828.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />Mia and I talked a lot. She is 11. I am 75. Oh, you think that with such an age difference that we don't have anything to talk about? Well, we do.<br /><br />For one thing, we talk about an upcoming E-book, "Something Tells Her." It is about a 12 year old girl, a foster child, who runs away from her latest abusive foster home. Alone on the streets, no family, nothing, how is she going to survive? <br /><br />Written by Miabella T. Riley and Published by State Kid Publications, "Something tells Her" is the real deal. Miabella T. Riley is a pen name.&nbsp; The author, whose childhood was spent in abusive foster homes, prefers to remain anonymous.<br /><br />Spending time with Mia, I got to understand a 12-year-old girl -- how she thinks, what she knows and doesn't know, her fears. One afternoon the two of us walked to and from a park about twenty minutes away, talking the whole time. She can't wait to read "Something Tells Her."<br /><br />Like her mom, Mia is multi-talented, a singer, dancer, actress, and a gymnast. Here she is performing during our park excursion.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N2bvO3wR-Ts/UfxUZNGI_-I/AAAAAAAADsI/25h81ZNe71A/s1600/IMG_1780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N2bvO3wR-Ts/UfxUZNGI_-I/AAAAAAAADsI/25h81ZNe71A/s200/IMG_1780.JPG" width="172" /></a></div><br />The cover of "Something Tells Her" is done, with Mia posing as the girl. In the book, while her foster parents are playing with their own daughter and could care less where their meal ticket is, our heroine wanders down to the beach. She is about to wade into the rough waters when something tells her that she'd better not. She stays put.<br /><br />On that beach on that day, another girl drowned. Here is the cover starring Mia:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-miV30KTftF0/Uf55dXVJF-I/AAAAAAAADug/eQ88d_ssp_4/s1600/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-miV30KTftF0/Uf55dXVJF-I/AAAAAAAADug/eQ88d_ssp_4/s320/SomethingTellsHer_AMAZON.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>Now Max, 6.&nbsp; With three sisters, he's surrounded by girlyness.&nbsp; So Max and I do guy stuff, such as tracking down the neighborhood monster. We found out where the monster is hiding -- in an abandoned house up the hill and around the corner. Next visit, we ambush him.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vB_27n3BGDM/Ufxpptt_ioI/AAAAAAAADtA/aVoBh2gYT6c/s1600/IMG_1869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vB_27n3BGDM/Ufxpptt_ioI/AAAAAAAADtA/aVoBh2gYT6c/s200/IMG_1869.JPG" width="173" /></a><br /><br />Max is shown here sitting across from me at Starbucks.&nbsp;&nbsp; Unlike those gabby sisters of his, we two guys, he on his I-Pad and I on my computer, go long periods hardly saying a word.<br /><br />One afternoon, Max and I walked to McDonald's where he got his favorite Happy Meal and then ran around the play equipment with other kids. On the way there and back, Max showed me how he could make the cars stop.<br /><br />"Watch," he said at a crosswalk. He pressed the button. Sure enough, the cars stopped. He strutted across the street like a little emperor followed by his manservant. <br /><br />"You made those cars stop," I said. "How did you do that?"<br /><br />"Easy," he said with a flip of the hand. "Easy."<br /><br />If afternoons were for kids, mornings were for editing "Something Tells Her" at Starbucks. I was there every morning between 6 and 6:30 and so had my choice of work spot. I picked the largest table, the handicapped table in the corner, and it quickly became my "office."<br /><br />Ordering the same thing every day, coffee and a multi-grain roll, I worked every day until about noon.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--o9hymTQhKY/Ufxh2nWIvCI/AAAAAAAADsY/Udds1N0pOko/s1600/IMG_1746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--o9hymTQhKY/Ufxh2nWIvCI/AAAAAAAADsY/Udds1N0pOko/s200/IMG_1746.JPG" width="191" /></a>At first, I wondered if the staff was going to show me the door. But all I got from every single one of them were smiles and apologies when one of them had to get something in the cabinet behind me.<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_2JOw7mbDx4/UfxicNKuHFI/AAAAAAAADsg/cuUyeeyhZlg/s1600/IMG_1868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_2JOw7mbDx4/UfxicNKuHFI/AAAAAAAADsg/cuUyeeyhZlg/s200/IMG_1868.JPG" width="149" /></a><br />"Sorry, sorry," they all said.<br /><br />And they meant it, every single one of them. My corner office quickly became a home away from home.<br /><br />I got to know other regular customers and they got to know me. Soon we were on a first name basis, chatting back and forth. It was like old home week.&nbsp; <br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tfRgF-Xh7A0/Uf0J0fqNo8I/AAAAAAAADtg/2rD8NwQ_LHg/s1600/IMG_1783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tfRgF-Xh7A0/Uf0J0fqNo8I/AAAAAAAADtg/2rD8NwQ_LHg/s200/IMG_1783.JPG" width="158" /></a><br />Two regulars are Mike and Elaine, pictured here. Elaine works for the post office and starts off her day at Starbucks. Mike, who lost a leg in naval service, always had a joke or happy story.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DwYr5VdH8nI/Uf0Sf4TNHWI/AAAAAAAADuA/WrvBta_ZfRs/s1600/IMG_1814.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DwYr5VdH8nI/Uf0Sf4TNHWI/AAAAAAAADuA/WrvBta_ZfRs/s200/IMG_1814.JPG" width="200" /></a>When I came in a little later one morning, I found Mike hovering over my regular spot. "What are you doing?" I asked. <br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fcyrjl6xXQc/Uf0LCYCJqXI/AAAAAAAADtw/qqsEwYDrv1M/s1600/IMG_1819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>"What do you think I'm doing? I'm saving your place."<br /><br />With another regular, Dave, right, it might have gotten nasty in a place other than Starbucks in Edmonds. We both wanted my corner office.<br /><br />When I came in a little later one morning and found Dave sitting there, I stood surprised and obviously disappointed. "Come on," Dave quickly said. "Sit down. We'll share it."<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />So I did and, between working, we laughed and told stories as everybody does in the Edmonds Starbucks. A couple of times that I was sitting in the corner office when Dave came in, I invited him to share. He waved me off. He wanted me to have the corner office.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fcyrjl6xXQc/Uf0LCYCJqXI/AAAAAAAADtw/qqsEwYDrv1M/s1600/IMG_1819.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fcyrjl6xXQc/Uf0LCYCJqXI/AAAAAAAADtw/qqsEwYDrv1M/s200/IMG_1819.JPG" width="161" /></a>Another two regulars are Eber and his wife Teresa, left. She goes by Terry. We chatted just about every day. Terry gave me a personal tour of the elder care facility nearby where she works. <br /><br />On the day before I was to fly back to the east coast, she came over to my corner office. "I'm going to miss you," she said, clasping my hand. "I hope you come back soon."<br /><br />"Gonna miss you, too," I said. "I'll be back soon. I love Edmonds."<br /><br />Let me end now with a photo of Barbara and me. It was taken on the ferry to Kingston, a small quaint village where we had a wonderful few hours walking around, sipping coffee in a quaint cafe, and enjoying life and each other. Edmonds is in the background.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-701V1Uk6tcg/Uf0U_1kF0tI/AAAAAAAADuQ/zj4ISS9s_7Q/s1600/IMG_1798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-701V1Uk6tcg/Uf0U_1kF0tI/AAAAAAAADuQ/zj4ISS9s_7Q/s200/IMG_1798.JPG" width="190" /></a></div>&nbsp; So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"Something Tells Her" is coming soon. Look for it here. Other E-books now available are: "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><u><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></u></b><u> <b>&nbsp;</b></u><br /><u><b>For the Nook</b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>:</b></span></u></div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-beautiful-story-george-pollock/1107730632?ean=2940013539464" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Beautiful Story </span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-long-happy-healthy-life-george-pollock/1109325304?ean=2940013933965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Long, Happy, Healthy Life</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">I, Cadaver</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/killers-george-pollock/1103017625?ean=2940012924865" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">Killers</span></a> </h2></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/sosiZd_P2B0" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/sosiZd_P2B0/edmonds-washington-family-beauty-and.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/08/edmonds-washington-family-beauty-and.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-6213354680768493997Wed, 05 Jun 2013 13:51:00 +00002013-06-09T07:39:53.235-04:00care-takingDiane Bisnetteloss of legspoetrypoetry from lifestrokestroke recoveryWorcester tornadowritingwriting from life Life of a Poet: Dee Bisnette Writes From the Heart -- and Will Touch Yours.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CKOdWTgiLPQ/UaQKH5y8mqI/AAAAAAAADos/KuNmlwEKudw/s1600/life+of+a+poet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CKOdWTgiLPQ/UaQKH5y8mqI/AAAAAAAADos/KuNmlwEKudw/s320/life+of+a+poet.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>Losing both legs in the Worcester, Mass. tornado of 1953 at age 7, living the good life for many happy years, and now as a 24-hour caretaker for her stroke-disabled husband Phil, Dee Bisnette,&nbsp; knows the unfairness of life and all it demands as well as confers.<br /><br />What's more unfair than losing your legs as a young girl and having your life turned upside down before it has even started? Dee met and married Phil as a teenager. Phil promised her mom that he would take care of her always and, boy, has he.<br /><br />As the owner and "big guy" of his own successful construction firm, he made it possible in their 48 years of marriage for Dee to be a stay-at-home mom for their three children while living in beautiful homes and enjoying an upscale life. To some less fortunate, she was "the princess." <br /><br />For details on the Worcester Tornado and Phil's Sept. 27, 2010 stroke at the age of 65, see an earlier <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2010/12/after-phils-stroke-dee-and-phil-fight.html">story.&nbsp; </a><br /><br />Despite her long, happy life with Phil, the one and only love of her life, Dee has real anger with her care-taking life today and does not hide it. It comes out in her poetry and Phil reads it.<br /><br />In a recent visit to their new, beautifully furnished condo, I told Phil how moved I was by the power and honesty of her two recent poems. As I spoke, Phil's eyes teared up. He may be confined to a wheelchair and have trouble speaking, but he hears and understands all -- including Dee's anger. <br /><br />So, yes, in Dee's poetry, her anger is out in the open competing with love and she makes no apologies and Phil asks none. As always, he is supportive, still "taking care" of her as he promised her mom oh so many years ago.<br /><br />It is this great and enduring love for each other that has made possible Dee's extraordinary, brutally honest poetry. Coming straight from her heart and life as a 24-hour caretaker for her wheelchair-bound husband, it's all there: the questions, the hurt, the anger, the passionate love and commitment to her husband.<br /><br />Dee does not see herself as a poet. She has never submitted her work for publication. It is simply something that she must do. "My brain is always composing and I have to write it down," she says.<br /><br />Dee recently sent two poems to family and a few friends. I was one of them. When I read the first one, I sent Dee this e-mail:<br /><br />Dee, <br />A beautiful, heartfelt poem. Thank you for sending it to us. Life has certainly handed you challenges, from the tornado and the loss of your legs as a young girl and now as a caretaker for Phil, and the poem helps us understand, at least to the extent that it is possible. You're doing great, kid. <br /><br />In a later telephone conversation, I asked her how long it had taken her to write the poems. "About an hour each," she said matter-of-factly.<br /><br />"An hour each! That's all?"<br /><br />"Yes, it was all written in my head. I just had to put it down."<br /><br />"How long editing and revising?"<br /><br />"None. It was done."<br /><br />I was dumbfounded. For a Patient's Progress story, I routinely spend far more time fixing mistakes and revising than I do writing. When I get a rare compliment on my own writing, I say, "Thanks, but I'm really a lousy writer." Pause. "But I'm the world's greatest rewriter."<br /><br />Dee, in my humble opinion, is a gifted poet. Here is the first poem by Dee Bisnette:<br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Poem <br /><br />I dreamed a dream when I was young of living by the sea.<br />The peace and the tranquility and beauty beckoned me.<br />For years I wished upon the stars to make those dreams come true<br />Then thankfully my wish was granted all because of you.<br />Your dream was not the same as mine but I thought that it would be<br />When you could feel the happiness oozing out of me.<br />I made our home a lovely place and welcomed those we knew<br />To share with us, to have some fun and make some memories too.<br />For sixteen years, the summers were as special as could be<br />Our friends and family, four grandkids all meant the world to me.<br />Then tragedy knocked on our door, we've done all that we can<br />And now the dream you made come true, is slipping from my hand.<br />As I arrived this rainy day to pack what's left inside<br />The yard ablaze with all we planted made me fill with pride<br />I knew this was the final time I'd see "Dee's Dream" above<br />So I walked in slowly room to room still feeling all the love.<br />I still could hear the laughter, see the little ones at play<br />My memories will fill my heart each and every day.<br />I'm grateful for the years we had, though I wish we'd had some more<br />I'll miss our neighbors oh so much as I walk back out the door<br />No one will ever love this home the way I loved it so<br />I'll just walk out and not look back and none will ever know<br />The sadness that I feel inside is oh so hard to bear<br />But I'll be brave and dig real deep for a smile I can wear<br />I wonder if there's still some time to find the peace I seek<br />I close the door to years of joy as a tear runs down my cheek.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c7Rwm0BSQp4/Ua6D26_3luI/AAAAAAAADo8/XtnNvDbbYgY/s1600/photo-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c7Rwm0BSQp4/Ua6D26_3luI/AAAAAAAADo8/XtnNvDbbYgY/s320/photo-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />For Dee, other people are a welcome break from loneliness and an endless to-do list. Dee and Phil are shown above at a recent memorial golf tournament and dinner for Mark Bisnette, Dee and Phil's nephew and my wife Barbara's son and my stepson. (Dee's sister-in-law Sue is in the background with her arms folded.) Mark, a 4-year Marine Corps veteran and Worcester police officer, died three years ago in a car accident. He was 38 and left a wife and four children.<br /><br /><div dir="ltr"><div><br />Sending her second poem, Dee wrote:<br /><br /><div>Here is the one I wrote last week.....sounds a bit angry....but it's more bitter .......and sad for Phil. Lots of emotion I deal with every day......and if you don't live it, you don't get it......that's just how I feel and won't apologize for my feelings.......I'm sure you understand.</div>Soon I'll write a happy poem.....promise. </div><div><br /></div><div>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Poem </div><div></div><div><br />When Phil was struck down in the night so many months ago<br />The shock and horror that I felt, no one will ever know<br />The man we knew would take a "trip" to foreign land for sure<br />And none could know if he'd return as he once was before.<br />We all know now that "foreign" land is a place he must reside.<br />A disconnected, lonely soul, keeps all his pain inside<br /><br />I watch him sit here day by day and can't help wonder how<br />A man so vibrant, full of life could end up lonely now.<br />In business he was "Mr Big" a name he wore with pride<br />When he was down and nearly "out" all friends came to his side<br />Yet now that he could use a lift from all who he has known<br />It's sad to say that "Mr. Big is very much alone.<br /><br />I try to keep a "normal" life as much as time permits<br />My workload is enormous, it sends me into fits.<br />To care for Phil around the clock, sometimes without a break<br />Feels often like I'm so alone, it's more than I can take.<br />When asked how I can "do it all" I answer, "I don't know"<br />The truth is that I have no choice.....where else could he go?<br /><br />I dare to say that if the same should happen in your life<br />You'd do the same, give selflessly to your husband or your wife.<br /><br />It's not the selling of our homes or the lifestyle we have lost<br />It's not the constant vigilance that's come not without cost.<br />It's not the fact the phones don't ring, the invites sure are few<br />But that I know how Phil would be if this happened to you.<br /><br />It would not matter how much time it took to get you well<br />He'd never be too busy to sit with you a spell.<br />For in his life of vibrant health he still found time to share<br />His wealth, some knowledge or a joke, yes "Mr. Big" was there<br /><br />To those of you who might believe in Heaven after death<br />The questions asked at Heaven's Gate may take away your breath<br />You won't be asked what job you held or how much was your pay<br />Or how many hours that you spent working in a day<br />You won't be asked how big your home, how shiny was your car<br />You won't be asked your "handicap" or did you golf at par<br />Who you knew along the way would matter not up there<br />The question God would ask you though is, "how much did you care?"<br /><br />For those of you who've kept in touch and made our lives worth while<br />I thank you deeply from my heart for allowing me to smile<br />for traveling on this road of life no one can know its end<br />Or how the road will twist and turn<br />But it's better with a friend.</div><div></div><div><br /><div>After reading this, my wife Barbara sent the following E-mail to Dee: <br /><br />Hi, Dee!</div><div>George had been so impressed by this poem that he just wanted me to read it -- and now I have! You are a great writer/poet who is able to put your deepest feelings into words. It is the best way for you to share the sadness and&nbsp;frustration of your "now" life. Yes, you can be angry; yes, you can be bitter; yes, you can be sad! <i>It is<u> your </u>life</i> <i>and <u>you</u> are living it!</i> If it helps to let it out by putting words to paper/type,&nbsp;then that is great! As you wrote:<i> "I dare to say that if the same should happen in your life, You'd do the same, give selflessly to your husband or your wife."</i> How true -- and anyone who reads this poem knows how scary that would be!!! Thanks for sharing -- a help for you, and a help for us, your readers! Keep it up!!!</div><div><br />With love, Barbara Ann</div><br />Dee,</div><div></div><div>Thank you for these poems teaching us that, no matter the hardship and pain, we can still care, love and smile -- as you do.<br /><br />With love, George <br /><br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br />&nbsp;<b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><u><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></u></b><u> <b>&nbsp;</b></u><br /><u><b>For the Nook</b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>:</b></span></u></div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-beautiful-story-george-pollock/1107730632?ean=2940013539464" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Beautiful Story </span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-long-happy-healthy-life-george-pollock/1109325304?ean=2940013933965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Long, Happy, Healthy Life</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">I, Cadaver</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/killers-george-pollock/1103017625?ean=2940012924865" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">Killers</span></a> </h2></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>&nbsp; </div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/cofo7j4MKyY" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/cofo7j4MKyY/life-of-poet-dee-bisnette-writes-from.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/06/life-of-poet-dee-bisnette-writes-from.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-2344367711579818304Sun, 26 May 2013 23:46:00 +00002013-05-26T19:47:52.013-04:00active seniorsaginghealthy agingsenior lovesenior romancesenior sexualityThe Romantic Larry Behr, 88: A Young Man on the Prowl for Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Happiness.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My old friend, Larry Behr, 88, is shown here in his tux before singing this month with the Bristol CT Choral Society. Having survived the loss of two great longtime loves, Larry is back living full steam ahead -- and is on the prowl for a new romance.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJufRhssI9E/UZZ8SKbdBSI/AAAAAAAADoA/aQ5ARO3jKto/s1600/IMG_1643.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HJufRhssI9E/UZZ8SKbdBSI/AAAAAAAADoA/aQ5ARO3jKto/s320/IMG_1643.JPG" width="197" /></a></div>I remember having lunch with him 18 years ago to celebrate his 70th birthday. As we sat there, I thought, "Oh my God, seventy years old!" Now I wouldn't mind being that young.<br /><div></div><div><br />A former sales manager for 28 years at the same New Jersey company, Larry is quick to say that he is not the retiring type. He is independent. He has his own money and has had the same financial advisor for 20 years.<br /><br />He lives in his own large, comfortable home. He has all his "cookies." He is fully mobile. He drives. He sails. He travels. He keeps up with current affairs and can expound at length on the pros and cons of President Obama's policies.<br /><br />A whirlwind of interests and activity, he is always doing something. </div><div></div><div>“Idleness is my enemy,” he said. “Time on my hands gets me down thinking about Elaine (his last great love who died three years ago)." </div><div></div><br />A bright spot in Larry's life is that Elaine's family of five grown children (and 16 grandchildren), have reached out to him and make a point to include him in family gatherings. He deeply appreciates this and wants to remain a part of the family as he has been for 18 years.<br /><div></div><br />He is also close to his sister Norma in New Jersey, and his nephew Mark and wife Leslie and their son Alan. But they are in New Jersey and Larry is three hours drive away in Connecticut. The distance is difficult to surmount regularly.<br /><div></div><div><br />The running joke with Larry and me is that I have applied for and received court custody of him. I tell him that I don't like bothering him, but the court requires regular visitations. He laughs.</div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ArbYrpsKhaA/SZiUWeE4N5I/AAAAAAAAAX8/L-54DuYqZTo/s1600-h/larry+behr,+house+sign.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303151674980317074" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ArbYrpsKhaA/SZiUWeE4N5I/AAAAAAAAAX8/L-54DuYqZTo/s200/larry+behr,+house+sign.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 114px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a></div><div><br />Larry's sense of humor&nbsp; marches on as if to its own imperatives. The sign here is typical Larry Behr humor. It is near his front door and greets every visitor.</div><div></div><div><br />He blames his poor mother for his sense of humor. “Wherever she went, even to the store, she would come back with a story about somebody she met or something that had happened,” Larry said.</div><div></div><div><br />Larry's stories are legendary and come out when they have to, which is all the time. You have to run off somewhere. Too bad. You have to hear a story on your way out. Not feeling yourself, Larry will have a story for you. It may or may not make you feel better. It may or may not be funny. It may, actually, be awful.</div><div></div><div><br />But quite a few are hilarious. Many are cultural jewels from his childhood, from his wartime experiences in World War II, from his stint hosting a Connecticut radio show – and thus the sonorous voice – and from going on nine decades of living.</div><div></div><div><br />Normally, I limit Larry to three stories a visit. He good-naturedly goes along with the limit, but never stops trying to slip in an extra story. I gently, but firmly, shut him up.</div><div></div><div><br />He is also a thoroughly addicted punner. When you thank him for something, he invariably says, "my pressure.”<br /><br />No matter what is happening in Larry's life, the punning never stops.</div><div></div><br />This evening, Larry was singing with the&nbsp; 150-strong Bristol Choral Society. He is a baritone. The Bristol Choral Society does not hold auditions. Anybody is welcome to join. The Society sings everything from Latin liturgy -- in Latin -- to modern pop. This particular evening the choral group also performed a beautiful continuous selection from Cole Porter.<br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DJRJB7RGtMw/UZaC-SQ7UPI/AAAAAAAADoQ/FTIURE1-2u0/s1600/IMG_1645.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DJRJB7RGtMw/UZaC-SQ7UPI/AAAAAAAADoQ/FTIURE1-2u0/s320/IMG_1645.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div></div><div>When a select group of women were singing alone and Larry was sitting in the audience with us watching, he said, "Fourth from the left. That's the one I have the hots for."</div><div></div><div><br />"Larry," I said, as his legal custodian, "those days are over for you. Don't you think it's time you acted your age?"</div><div></div><div><br />"No. I really, really like her."</div><div></div><div><br />He explained that he had already approached her and learned that she was involved in a relationship. "She told me that it wasn't going well," he said brightly, "so I gave her my card and asked her to call me when she was ready. She's a beauty."</div><div></div><div><br />Larry also has a business selling and fixing antiques.&nbsp; He calls it “Fetherson and Fothergil, Purveyers of Antiquity.” His business card offers restoration and repairs of the following: Weapons. Scientific. Clocks. Tools. Primitives. The last one applies to people and things. He makes house calls. The card sums up his business as “specializing in almost everything.”</div><br /><div>Rarely does one see or hear of a business with almost no interest in making money, but Fetherson and Fothergil is such a business. “I'm not doing it to make money,” Larry said. “I'm doing it for people, to see them, to be around them, to talk to them.”</div><div></div><div><br />In pursuit of his own surely quixotic idea of business, Larry hits the antique shows, fairs, and other places where antique-lovers gather. While serious businesses follow the money, Fetherson and Fothergill goes to where the people are.&nbsp;</div><div></div><div><br />Larry's “customers” don't need fat wallets; they just need to love antiques and be willing to hear Larry's stories and tell him their own. He will charge something for his wares and services, but it is largely a front to maintain appearances.</div><br /><div>“I'm cheap,” he said. But he is quick to add that he does quality work. Should there be any doubt about that, it is dispelled with one look at the beautifully restored fine antiques displayed throughout his home.</div><br /><div>If you are an antique-lover and are in the market for a cheap antiques purveyer and restorer who makes house calls, there is a number you can call. It is 860-585-6484. In conscience, however, and in the interests of full disclosure, there is a caveat.</div><br /><div>If you are a woman, you must understand something. Larry Behr is on the make, actively looking for a pretty young thing. He may be 88, but he is looking for romance, actually for the next love of his life.</div><div></div><div><br />“I'm on the prowl,” he admits. “I'm looking for a meaningless relationship.”</div><div></div><div><br />“Aren't you a bit too old to be even thinking about dating?”</div><br /><div>“Look,” he said not the least bit sheepishly. “I like girls.”</div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303140858480203970" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ArbYrpsKhaA/SZiKg3eSmMI/AAAAAAAAAXs/Jet1xPvurkc/s320/larry+behr,+big+ring.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 253px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" />So girls -- excuse me, ladies -- watch out for Larry Behr. Also, he has been known to dangle enticements, as in this photo. There, you have fair warning. Here is a young man on the prowl for life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.&nbsp; <br /><div align="LEFT" style="border: medium none; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; padding: 0in; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto;"><br />So long and keep moving.</div><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</b><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><u><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></u></b><u> <b>&nbsp;</b></u><br /><u><b>For the Nook</b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>:</b></span></u></div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-beautiful-story-george-pollock/1107730632?ean=2940013539464" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Beautiful Story </span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-long-happy-healthy-life-george-pollock/1109325304?ean=2940013933965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Long, Happy, Healthy Life</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">I, Cadaver</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/killers-george-pollock/1103017625?ean=2940012924865" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">Killers</span></a> </h2></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/5PGGtl24ZyM" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/5PGGtl24ZyM/the-romantic-larry-behr-88-young-man-on.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-romantic-larry-behr-88-young-man-on.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-7867286860700543694Sun, 19 May 2013 15:13:00 +00002013-05-26T19:37:09.865-04:00eating controleating habitsHDLhealthy aginghealthy diethigh cholesterolLDLlongevitysimvastatinstatinssweet toothsweetsweight lossMaking It To 120: Great News and a Barrel of Laughs at the Doctor's Office.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b_i7zOp1v2I/UY-9LVf3XVI/AAAAAAAADnw/GXfPLoIxHDA/s1600/IMG_1642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b_i7zOp1v2I/UY-9LVf3XVI/AAAAAAAADnw/GXfPLoIxHDA/s320/IMG_1642.JPG" width="311" /></a></div>"Hey," said Rich at tennis the other day, "they found your baby picture." He handed me the cover of the May issue of National Geographic featuring a baby with the headline, "This Baby Will Live To Be 120."<br /><br />Having just celebrated my 75th birthday on May 2, was Rich really telling me that my dream of making it to 120 is just that?<br /><br />"You know, Rich," I said, putting my face and the cover side by side, "that's definitely me. I was wondering when somebody would come up with a baby picture of me. You have to admit, I was one cute little baby."<br /><br />"Oh, definitely," Rich said. <br /><br />I&nbsp; showed the cover to the two other guys, Jim and Marty. Both scurried onto the tennis court. They weren't interested in my baby picture. Grrrr.<br /><br />I went out on the court and took it out on the poor tennis balls.<br /><br />At the top of this page, I do talk about making it to 120 (and the impossible odds against it) so, first chance, I got myself a copy of the May issue of National Geographic. The cover story by science writer Stephen S. Hall is entitled, "New Clues to a Long Life." The intro says: "You want to live to 120? And stay healthy? Genetic discoveries could make that wish come true."<br /><br />Genes. Hmm. All of my attention, I have to admit, has focused on the usual suspects against leading a long, healthy, and happy life: high cholesterol, high blood pressure, smoking, obesity, lack of exercise. Of these, only high cholesterol has been a problem for me.<br /><br />For the high cholesterol, my VA primary care doctor prescribed a statin (simvastatin) for me and I took the tablets for some months and then stopped. I just didn't like the idea. I told her that I wanted to try to lower my cholesterol through a major change of diet. She was skeptical, but open to seeing what I could do.<br /><br />Though I have a sweet tooth, I cut out sweets like sherbet,cake and cookies. For breakfast, I replaced buttered toast with organic oatmeal sprinkled with milled flax seed, plus an orange. I cut my portions and stopped eating between meals. Over six months, I lost nearly 20 pounds.<br /><br />At my November appointment, my total cholesterol was down significantly, but the LDL, the bad stuff, was way too high at 146. "It's going in the right direction," I said. "Give me another six months."<br /><br />She went along. And for the next six months, I kept the same regimen except that I didn't starve myself the way I did before. I didn't need to lose any more weight. But I continued cutting out most&nbsp; sweets and kept to a low-calorie diet.<br /><br />Six months later, this May 14, having taken a blood test a few days before, I showed up for my scheduled appointment with my skeptical, "show me" VA primary care doctor. A visit to the doctor is normally serious. After all, what is at stake here is your health and sometimes your very life. Doctors and their staff are used to patients with serious health issues and worried faces. Very often they have to deliver bad news.<br /><br />But my doctor's visit was actually a lot of fun. I was smiling -- and even joking -- the whole time. It started with the doctor's assistant giving me the preliminary. As she checked my body temp, heart rate, and blood pressure she kept saying, "Wow."<br /><br />"You're how old?" she asked.<br /><br />"I turned 75 on May 2."<br /><br />"You know, when I went out to meet you, I was looking for an old man. And then I saw you bounding up to me. I thought there was a mistake."<br /><br />"No, really."<br /><br />"I hope you don't mind if I double-check. When were you born?"<br /><br />"May 2, 1938."<br /><br />She checked my personal data on the computer.<br /><br />"You're right. Sorry, but those numbers are just surprising for your age."<br /><br />"When are you going to stop talking about my age? I'm a young guy, for God's sakes."<br /><br />She giggled. "Yes, you are."<br /><br />When she was finished, in walked my all-business primary care doctor whose prescription for statins I had dared challenge. She had said that statins were a must to get my cholesterol down. I had said they weren't. And I told her that I was going to stop taking them and try to get my cholesterol down on my own. The difference, though certainly unusual, was completely civilized and even friendly. <br /><br />The doctor gave me a quick "hi" and with a smile sat down at the computer. "I have something I have to take care of," she said. "Be right with you."<br /><br />Those old days are long gone when doctors and patients had considerable face-to-face interaction.&nbsp; But within a few minutes, she was checking my numbers that her assistant had gotten. At each -- heart rate, temperature, blood pressure, pulse rate, and body temp -- she said "perfect." <br /><br />She sat back in her chair and said, "Excellent. I wish I had such numbers."<br /><br />Then came the big moment: the results of the latest blood test and my cholesterol count. She looked surprised. She leaned forward for a closer look. "It's down," she said. "Within normal range. With those numbers, I would not prescribe a statin for you. Would you like me to unprescribe the statin?"<br /><br />"Yes, please."<br /><br />I won. My LDL fell from 146 to 129. My total cholesterol fell from 244 to 188. Without a statin, that's within normal, low cardiovascular risk range. Excuse me while I give myself a little pat on the back.<br /><br />My doctor was not quite sure what to make of this 75-year-old making his own health care decisions and, worse, being right. "I have to do <i>something</i> for you," she said. "What can I do for you?"<br /><br />"Nothing. I think I'm good to go."<br /><br />"How about a&nbsp; shingles vaccine shot? You know if you get shingles, the pain is just awful and lasts for weeks. Outside it costs a hundred bucks. Here it's free."<br /><br />To make my doctor feel better, I got a shingles shot.<br /><br />And now, according to the National Geographic story, must I take living a long, healthy life to the next level -- based on new discoveries about genes?<br /><br />Of course, I do know that good genes help. I figured I must have decent ones since I am the oldest of five siblings, all of whom will have reached 70 when the youngest, my brother Reggie, turns 70 next year.<br /><br />When Reggie was five, I taught him to swim at the local swimming pool. He used to hang onto my neck for dear life. On his 70th, I can't wait to say, "Happy Birthday, old man! Welcome to old age!"<br /><br />The National Geographic story is about "how our genes harbor many secrets to a long and healthy life" and how scientists are beginning to uncover them. While not finding anybody who has made it to 120, the story pictures and briefly describes several who have made it to the big 100.<br /><br />But no one is anywhere near 120. The National Geographic story is an interesting account of the headlong race to find genetic keys. We will get there, but later rather than sooner. For those of us living now, the genetic studies are devilishly complex and elusive and progressing in baby steps.They are in a far too early stage to help you and me reach super old age.<br /><br />Sorry, but if you want to make it to 120, you are pretty much on your own. But, you know what, just as I went out on my own to dramatically lower my cholesterol, I think we can do the same in greatly increasing our lifespan on this earth.<br /><br />Job one is to avoid or at least control the chronic diseases such as high blood pressure, coronary artery disease, and diabetes. If we can do that -- and I have -- the next big hurdle is in lifestyle. We need to adopt a healthy lifestyle, both physically and emotionally. I have done that too. At least I think so. Anybody out there with good lifestyle ideas I might have missed, I'm all ears.<br /><br /><div align="LEFT" style="border: medium none; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; padding: 0in; page-break-after: auto; page-break-before: auto;">So long and keep moving.</div><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</b><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><u><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></u></b><u> <b>&nbsp;</b></u><br /><u><b>For the Nook</b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>:</b></span></u></div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-beautiful-story-george-pollock/1107730632?ean=2940013539464" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Beautiful Story </span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-long-happy-healthy-life-george-pollock/1109325304?ean=2940013933965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Long, Happy, Healthy Life</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">I, Cadaver</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/killers-george-pollock/1103017625?ean=2940012924865" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">Killers</span></a> </h2></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/lkYsJAgegUQ" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/lkYsJAgegUQ/making-it-to-120-great-news-and-barrel.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/05/making-it-to-120-great-news-and-barrel.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-4488182938103371927Mon, 29 Apr 2013 18:28:00 +00002013-04-29T14:37:35.811-04:00chargemasterhealth care costshigh medical costsmedical billsmedical industrial complexnonprofit hospitalsStephen BrillTime Magazine Killed By Medical Bills : In Time Magazine, Stephen Brill Tells Us Exactly Why -- By Following the Money. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><br /><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="41brill" height="133" src="http://timewellness.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/41brill.jpg?w=360&amp;h=240&amp;crop=1" title="41brill" width="200" />&nbsp;</div><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></div><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" height="400" src="http://img.timeinc.net/time/daily/2013/1302/360_cover_0304.jpg" width="300" /></div>Time magazine? Yes, and in its decades as a national publication with millions of readers worldwide, Time has never done anything like "Bitter Pill: Why Medical Bills Are Killing Us."<br /><br />The entire feature section of the magazine devoted to this single subject, 36 pages, 24,105 words? For Time, unheard of.<br /><br /><br />A report based on seven months of dogged research by a single writer? Yup, and he is Steven Brill, above, the founder of Court TV,&nbsp; American Lawyers, and&nbsp; Journalism Online (sold to RR Donnelly in 2011 for a reported $45 million; he's no starving writer).<br /><br />Ramping up research several notches, he puts today's skyrocketing medical costs under relentless, unprecedented scrutiny. Uncovering and documenting fact after unassailable fact, purging all ideology, he lays out exactly why medical bills in the U.S. are routinely not just outrageous -- but killing us, often literally.<br /><br />In doing so, Mr. Brill, a master detective, slowly, painstakingly uncovers a money trail leading to&nbsp; powerful, entrenched, self-enriching masters of U.S. medical billing. The facts are startling. For example, America spends more on health care than "the next 10 highest-spending countries combined."<br /><br />In the foreword, Richard Stengel, Managing Editor of Time, writes: "U.S health care is a $2.8 trillion market, but it's not a free one. Hospitals and health care providers offer services at prices that often bear little relationship to costs. They charge what they want to, and mostly -- because it's a life-and-death issue -- we have to pay.<br /><br />"Have you actually looked at your hospital bill? It's largely indecipherable, but Brill meticulously dissects bills and calculates the true costs. He employs a classic journalistic practice: he follows the money..."<br /><br />When I read Mr. Brill's story, I felt a little stupid. While I have had my own experiences with outrageous medical bills, I was shocked at the brazenness and institutionalization of the mass money gouging that is the U.S. medical system. I think you will be too when you read this important story in Time magazine.<br /><br />Now, I'm not going to tell you all that's in this Time story. You have to read it yourself. Actually, it's okay with me if you stop reading right now and go and get a copy somewhere (at your library maybe) or see if you can read it online. My feelings won't be hurt.<br /><br />Pause.<br /><br />Still here? Nice to have you stay with me. You can always read the Time story later. For your own information, make sure you do. By the way, I'm getting no money from Time or Stephen Brill. I know, not too bright.<br /><br />Let me now backtrack a little. I rarely read Time magazine. I've always considered it a publication heavy on hot news, politics, celebrities, entertainment and light on the important issues of the day. For the big issues, I tend to rely on such publications as The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. I subscribe to both.<br /><br />One day I saw a short item in The New York Times saying that Time's March 4 cover story was flying off newsstands and breaking records for online readership. Richard Stengel was quoted as saying, "Yeah. It's really struck a nerve and captured lightning in a bottle."<br /><br />Surprisingly, most of the attention came from young people. Brimming with life, with few thoughts of health and hospitalization, they would normally be expected to be less concerned with medical bills than older folk. But Mr. Brill's article was shared on social media a hundred times more often than the average Time article in 2013, according to The New York Times.<br /><br />On nytimes.com, one young reader wrote: "This is the only time in my life that I have been interested in buying Time magazine. I'm 30. I'm unsure whether this bodes poorly for them, or well. Maybe I'll find something I like and give it a chance."<br /><br />To peruse feedback from Time's readers, click <a href="http://healthland.time.com/2013/02/21/social-reactions-bitter-pill-why-medical-bills-are-killing-us/">here.</a><br /><br />Or, if you like, listen to Mr. Brill discuss his Time story in this <a href="http://www.time.com/time/video/player/0,32068,2178453595001_2136781,00.html">video.</a><br /><br />When I saw Mr. Brill's story getting so much attention -- he was getting dozens of e-mails a day, mostly from young people -- I decided that I had to get a copy. Everywhere I went, Time was sold out.<br /><br />Finally, like a druggie needing a fix, I went to the Worcester Public Library. The magazine section had plenty of magazines, but no Time magazine. I went up to the library desk. "You don't get Time magazine?" I asked the clerk, a young man. "We do, but they're all out," the clerk said. "Sorry."<br /><br />I must have been a pitiful figure. The clerk gave me a long look. "Tell you what," he said. "We have one copy here, but not for lending. I'll get it, but you can't take it with you. You have to read it here. Okay?" <br /><br />"Deal."<br /><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></div><br />He went back into the stacks and came back with the March 4 Time magazine. Then, as if plunking a few coins in my outstretched, beseeching can, he handed me the magazine, smiled, and said, "Enjoy."<br /><br />I went back to the magazine section table and began reading. While I read Time, my dutiful wife Barbara, who was with me, read her romance novel -- not her idea of romance, I'm sure. On top of that, I put her to work taking this picture of me on my unpaid job.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E8WaTZYIf6M/UXM1J93CFsI/AAAAAAAADjg/Be5iCFclhYk/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E8WaTZYIf6M/UXM1J93CFsI/AAAAAAAADjg/Be5iCFclhYk/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />Already I was thinking that there was a story here for Patient's Progress.&nbsp; <br /><br />Because we had to go, I was only able to flip through the long article. But I read enough to realize that this was one important, actually historic, article that I had to read in full. Then I got lucky. Since I was passing a Walgreen drugstore near my home, I decided on the spur of the moment to see if they had Time.<br /><br />They did, <i>one copy.</i> I grabbed it. I carried it with me everywhere. I left it behind at my son Jon's house. I told him that I had to, had to, had to have it, and would he mail it to me?&nbsp; Without a single roll of the eyes -- at least that I saw -- he said he would and did so. Thank you, Jon! <br /><br />I can't possibly do justice here to this great effort by Stephen Brill by trying to summarize all his findings. It would fall far too short. So let me leave you with just a little taste from his historic report in Time: <br /><br /><b>* </b>Although it is officially a nonprofit unit of the University of Texas, MD Anderson has ... an operating profit for the fiscal year 2010, the most recent annual report it filed with the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, of $531 million. That's a profit margin of 26% on revenue of $2.05 billion, an astounding result for such a service-intensive enterprise. The president of MD Anderson is paid like someone running a prosperous business. Ronald DePinho's total compensation last year was $1,845,000.&nbsp; That does not count outside earnings derived from a much publicized waver he received from the university that, according to the Houston Chronicle, allows him to maintain unspecified "financial ties with his three principal pharmaceutical companies." DePinho's salary is nearly triple the $674,350 paid to William Powers Jr., the president of the entire University of Texas system, of which MD Anderson is a part. This pay structure is ... reflected on campuses across the U.S. -- whether it's Texas, Stanford, Duke or Yale....&nbsp; Medicine has obviously become a huge business.<br /><br />* Of Houston's top 10 employers, five are hospitals, including MD Anderson with 19,000 employees.<br /><br /><b>*</b> America's largest city may be commonly thought of as the world's financial capital, but of New York's 18 largest private employers, eight are hospitals and four are banks.... Health care is eating away at our economy and our treasury.<br /><br />* The health care industry has spent $5.36 billion since 1998 on lobbying in Washington. That dwarfs the $1.53 billion spent by the defense and aerospace industries and the $1.3 billion spent by oil and gas interests over the same period. That's right: the health-care-industrial complex spends more than three times what the military-industrial complex spends in Washington.<br /><br />* Every hospital has a chargemaster, a mysterious internal price list. But it is treated like "an eccentric uncle living in the attic" and hospital officials don't want to talk about it. But it means that hospitals can and do charge whatever they like and prices keep going up automatically.<br /><br />* One night last summer a 64-year-old woman felt chest pains in her home near Stamford, Conn. She called 911 and an ambulance came and took her four miles to the emergency room at Stamford Hospital, a nonprofit institution. After about three hours of tests and a few quick words with a doctor, she was told she had indigestion and sent home. The bill: ambulance ride -- $995; doctors --$3,000; hospital-- $17,000. A total of $21,000 for a "false alarm." <br /><br />* One summer evening, a 64-year-old woman bus driver slipped and fell on her face in the backyard of her house in Fairfield, Conn. Nose bleeding, she was taken to the emergency room at Bridgeport Hospital, owned by the Yale New Haven Health System. She was there for six hours, "most of it waiting." She saw a resident for about 15 minutes. She had three CT scans -- of her head, face, and chest. The third one showed a hairline fracture of her nose. The CT bill was $6,538. A doctor charged $261 to read the scans. The charge for the emergency room was $908. Also thrown in were miscellaneous charges for instruments, bandages, tubing, and other incidentals. Total bill: $9,418.<br />Not yet 65 and eligible for Medicare, the woman is paying weekly installments on her bill. Her insurance policy with Cigna, one of the country's leading health insurers, would pay only $2,400.<br /><br />"When I got the bill, I almost had to go back to the hospital," she said.<br /><br />There are pages and pages more in Stephen Brill's ground-breaking story in the March 4, 2013 issue of Time magazine. He tells us exactly why medical bills are killing us. Read it. Yes, it's a bitter pill.&nbsp; But it's a pill we all need to take. So be a good patient-- and take your medicine.<br /><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Postscript:&nbsp;</b><br /><br /><b>Dr. Ketchum Tells of His Frustrations With Billing and Medicare. </b><br /><br />It is another story altogether for doctors outside mega hospital systems. A young doctor, Dr. Jonathan Ketchum, with his own practice in Worcester, Mass., told me of his frustrations with the medical billing system. The full <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2006/03/doctor-at-work-dr-ketchum-puts-marty.html">interview</a> is here. Following is an excerpt:<br /><br />&nbsp;“When you think about it, paying the doctor is really the patient's responsibility. A patient walks in here of his own free will and asks me to take care of him. The agreement is I take care of him and he pays me for doing so. But in the world of Medicare and third-party payers, patients don't know how to navigate a very complicated reimbursement system. So we end up doing it. Somebody has to do it or we don't get paid.”<br /><br />“In other words, you end up with the responsibility of doctor and patient.”<br /><br />“Yes. And in dealing with Medicare, we go through the exact same frustrations that the patient would have to go through. Say I want to question a claim denial and want to talk to a human being. When I call, I have to press a whole series of options and then get put on hold. I don't have time to be on hold; I have patients waiting to see me.”<br /><br />“Not what you signed up for?”<br /><br />“No. I signed up to be a doctor and to take care of people. That's the part the system doesn't even recognize. I operate on Wednesdays and Fridays. On the night before, I lie in bed awake thinking about what I have to do and how to make sure I do it right. I run what-if scenarios over and over about everything from first incision to closing. Then I go into the office the next day and find out how Medicare is banging me on the head.”<br /><br />The reimbursement problem is not just with Medicare, Dr. Ketchum says. He gives an example of a patient covered by Blue Cross. “I operated yesterday on a woman. I put screws on both sides of her ankle. But for all the time I spent with her, I'll be lucky to clear ten bucks an hour after I pay the overhead and all those people out front.”<br /><br />Later, I talked to one of those people out front, the one responsible for billing and reimbursement, and asked about the example cited by Dr. Ketchum. She retrieved the patient's file. She said that she could not give out her name or discuss her specific case, but could give the treatment and billing for an injury such as hers, a fractured left foot.<br /><br />She said: “The surgery took two hours. He put in five whole plates and five screws. He saw her for a 30-minute post-op appointment. After the surgery, there is a 90-day global period. During that time he saw her eight times for about thirty minutes each time. Altogether, it came to about six hours of face time. There was also about three hours of paperwork. We billed $1,000 and were paid $480.”<br /><br />So long and keep moving.<br /><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><u><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></u></b><u> <b>&nbsp;</b></u><br /><u><b>For the Nook</b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>:</b></span></u></div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-beautiful-story-george-pollock/1107730632?ean=2940013539464" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Beautiful Story </span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-long-happy-healthy-life-george-pollock/1109325304?ean=2940013933965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Long, Happy, Healthy Life</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">I, Cadaver</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/killers-george-pollock/1103017625?ean=2940012924865" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">Killers</span></a> </h2></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/zbeOCkzAEs0" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/zbeOCkzAEs0/killed-by-medical-bills-in-time.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)1http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/04/killed-by-medical-bills-in-time.htmltag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19663718.post-1147596502129973682Mon, 01 Apr 2013 17:45:00 +00002013-04-01T14:10:53.268-04:00alcohol addictionat-risk youthdrug addictionfather and daughterjuvenile detentionjuvenile prisonRay CharlesSheila Ray CharlesStraight Ahead MinistriesStraight Up CafeWorcesterSheila Raye Charles: Gladly Does the Daughter of Ray Charles Serve God, Save At-Risk Youth -- and SING!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" height="138" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2007/12/03/timestopics/raycharles.jpg" width="200" /></div>Sheila Raye Charles is the daughter of the legendary, internationally famous musician Ray Charles, left. That's how she has been known all her life&nbsp; and, to say the least, it has felt strange. She didn't know who <i>she </i>was.<i></i><br /><br />She now knows. And, having found her newly discovered self, she is "taking advantage" of her dad's name, as in this poster --&nbsp; to serve God and help others in desperate need. <br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lkN4nWpReng/UVTfjylIu-I/AAAAAAAADiY/YxqWGgaDvKc/s1600/IMG_1460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lkN4nWpReng/UVTfjylIu-I/AAAAAAAADiY/YxqWGgaDvKc/s320/IMG_1460.JPG" width="117" /></a><br /><br />Sheila Raye Charles recently performed live in Worcester, Mass., where I live, and I went to see her. It opened my eyes to her incredible story and talent. Plus I learned of something very big going on in my home city that I knew absolutely nothing about.<br /><br />So who was and is Sheila Raye Charles? Let's start with&nbsp; a short feature documentary in which she talks candidly about her life and pressures as the daughter of Ray Charles. Click <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDbh-H8tp6g">here.&nbsp;</a><br /><br />After decades as a huge star, international recognition, and multiple awards and honors, Ray Charles passed away in 2004 of liver failure. A longtime heroin addict, he was 73. Also in 2004, "Ray," the movie about his life, starring Jamie Fox, came out to huge success and major awards.<br /><br />Sheila Raye Charles watched that movie over and over. She hoped&nbsp; the movie would help her understand a father&nbsp; she had always desperately wanted to be a part of her life. She was 12 when she met her Dad for the first time. The few times she spoke to him on the telephone, she says, all he talked about was how angry he was at her mom. <br /><br />The movie helped, but only a little. All she had in common with her Dad, she sadly realized, was that "we were both addicts." Her mom was also a crack cocaine addict.<br /><br />In&nbsp; the Worcester Telegram and Gazette,&nbsp; Linda Bock described the background of Sheila Ray Charles as follows:<br /><br />"She survived sexual abuse as a child, a 20-year addiction to crack cocaine, losing custody of her five children she had with four different men, physical violence, three stints in federal prison, a hard-shelled famous father who fathered 12 children with nine different women and the trauma of meeting siblings she never knew she had at her father's funeral....<br /><br />"... Two of her five children were legally adopted, and the other three grew up in foster care.&nbsp; She has four daughters and a son.&nbsp; She has re-established a relationship with her oldest daughters, and with two other daughters through court orders, and is praying for the day she might be reunited with the others."<br /><br />This story&nbsp; piqued my curiosity. I had grown up with Ray Charles hit songs&nbsp; like "Georgia On My Mind" and "Hit The Road Jack" -- and&nbsp; hum them now decades later. Also, Ms. Charles was appearing in the notoriously "bad" part of the city, Main South. I wondered: What's with that?<br /><br />Main South is where drug dealers, prostitutes, and petty criminals ply their trade. Go there, we say in the comfortable West Side, and you're asking to get mugged. In a story I did exactly seven years ago, I described just how bad Main South was then. Click here <a href="http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2006/03/people-in-peril-where-when-you-have-to.html">here.</a><br /><br />The area has improved since then, but is still the bad part of the city. With my own background, I am no stranger to mean streets. When I was a teen, the streets were the only place where I felt at home. I grew up in foster homes without family or love, as do so many of the kids in Main South today. I see them as&nbsp; no different from what I was. <br /><br />These days, however, I'm at home and used to the more upscale West Side. Main South, to be honest, is now outside my comfort zone. I see that as a good reason to go there. <br /><br />Ms. Charles was appearing in the Straight Up Cafe and Community Center. It's a place I had never set foot in&nbsp; and knew nothing about. Good, that's what I like. Exploration. Adventure. Surprise. Answers to questions, such as: Can Sheila Raye Charles sing anywhere near as well as her dad?<br /><br />So after I dropped off a couple of grandkids with their aunt and with my wife Barbara occupied with two others, I was on my own for a few hours. Unsupervised free time! That is always my cue to go out the door to somewhere different. <br /><br />I grabbed my smartphone and notebook and headed for Main South. When I reached the Straight Up Cafe and Community Center, I got a surprise. Expecting a sorry looking mess, I found instead a modern, professionally designed, obviously new exterior. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LzSiL7Ghkzk/UVTxchn0iMI/AAAAAAAADio/wu8ZpkzRtqE/s1600/IMG_1490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LzSiL7Ghkzk/UVTxchn0iMI/AAAAAAAADio/wu8ZpkzRtqE/s200/IMG_1490.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />Classy! On Main South?<br /><br />When I walked inside, it was the same. This was an eating place with a full menu, including take-out, catering, and delivery. With free Wi-Fi and a super welcoming atmosphere, I could see myself hanging out there with my laptop and my New York Times.<br /><br />I was early. Sheila Raye Charles was not due to perform for another hour, at 5:30 P.M., but the place was filling fast.<br /><br />I was lucky to find a nice corner seat by the street window. Soon I was chatting with David Langer,&nbsp; as he scurried around doing last-minute prep and directing young people working behind the counter.<br /><br />"What's your job?" I asked.<br /><br />"I'm the Cafe manager," he said, "as much as you can manage young kids."<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0tUGScP7818/UVT8UlGuraI/AAAAAAAADi4/4O8Qnbo6AaM/s1600/IMG_1463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0tUGScP7818/UVT8UlGuraI/AAAAAAAADi4/4O8Qnbo6AaM/s320/IMG_1463.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />He said that his job was to "mentor and coach" kids coming out of juvenile lock-up, to help them gain work experience and become independent through Straight Ahead Ministries. He pointed to the young people working behind the counter. "They are all in the program."<br /><br />He said he had been with the Ministry for five years. Before that, he designed "hospitality interiors" for restaurants. That explains the great interior.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wXGwUBEvabI/UVTyQYBV5DI/AAAAAAAADiw/6bMoWdEtGos/s1600/IMG_1464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wXGwUBEvabI/UVTyQYBV5DI/AAAAAAAADiw/6bMoWdEtGos/s200/IMG_1464.JPG" width="171" /></a></div>"So, you're a pro in the restaurant business."<br /><br />"Oh, yes."<br /><br />In this photo, David Langer is at right. He sits with Robb Zarges as they welcome arrivals.<br /><br />Admission was free. Donations were welcome. Donors got a box of Milk Chocolate Butter Nut Munch made and donated by the nuns of Mount Saint Mary's Abbey in Wrentham, Mass. <br /><br />Robb Zarges is Executive Director of Straight Ahead Ministries. He's a people person. When I said that I might write something, he pointed to a table. "Over there, all kinds of information about the program." He gave me his card in case I had questions.<br /><br />I asked about Sheila Raye Charles. "Oh, she's downstairs talking to kids in our transition program.&nbsp; You're certainly welcome to go down and observe. There are other press down there."<br /><br />I gave Robb my card. "You give me your card, I give you mine," I said, handing him mine. "That's fair, right?"<br /><br />"Right," he said. "And thank you for your service."<br /><br />"How do you know that I'm a veteran?"<br /><br />"When you took out your wallet to give me your card, I saw your VA card."<br /><br />This guy doesn't miss a trick. <br /><br />I went over to the table and picked up information on the Straight Ahead Ministries and the Straight Up Cafe and Community Center.&nbsp; Having been in advertising myself for years, I found the brochures and informational cards highly professional. Yet another surprise.<br /><br /><i></i>Back at my window seat, I was looking through the info when someone walked in the door that made me think I was seeing things. He was Rich Pyle, one of the guys with whom I had played doubles tennis at the Greendale Y that very morning!&nbsp; <br /><br /><i>What was Rich doing in Main South? </i><br /><br />I got up, sneaked behind him, and grabbed him by the shoulders. When he turned around and saw me, his mouth snapped wide open and his eyes bulged like in a horror movie. He looked like he was going to drop dead of a heart attack.<br /><br />But before he could say anything, I announced to the people around us, "This guy doesn't belong here. This guy doesn't belong here." As I led him to my table, people were looking around at each other, concerned.<br /><br />"It's okay," I said. "Don't worry, I'm going to take care of him."<br /><br />No one found my act funny, certainly not Rich. I guess it wasn't. Oh, well.<br /><br />At the table, I said, "Rich!"<br /><br />He said, "George!"<br /><br />"You don't belong here. What the hell are you doing here?" I said.<br /><br />"I'm on the Board of Directors."<br /><br />Now it was heart attack time for me.<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"I'm on the Board of Straight Ahead Ministries. We're in 19 states."<br /><br />"I didn't realize it was so big."<br /><br />I was also shocked to learn that&nbsp; the central office of this national organization helping young people transition from juvenile lock-up to independent lives was in Worcester. And located in the heart of&nbsp; Main South, of all places!<br /><br />Straight Ahead Ministries works with more than 400 juvenile detention centers nationally and in five countries. It has been 25 years since it was founded by Scott Larson, the President of Straight Ahead. One-time gang leaders are now on the national staff and they are credited with reducing gang violence in many areas.<br /><br /><span class="font_8">As a social venture of Straight Ahead Ministries, Straight Up is a neighborhood cafe and community center. It is a </span><span class="font_8"> safe haven where former juvenile inmates can get protection, feel understood, make friends, and rebuild their lives. Here young people leaving juvenile lock-up <span class="font_8">have the opportunity to work on-site to gain experience and develop a resume that will help them secure long-term employment.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><span class="font_8"><span class="font_8">Working as a team, they provide peer training, manage the daily operations of the cafe, participate in marketing campaigns, and organize community center events like open mic night, recreational tournaments, sport events, and peer groups.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><span class="font_8"><span class="font_8">They also work in the adjacent affiliated New You, which sells used clothing, accessories, and small household items. All proceeds from the Straight Up Cafe and New You benefit at-risk youth in Worcester.&nbsp; </span></span><br /><br />Rich and I soon got over the shock of the eerie coincidence of running into each other here. We chatted awhile before Rich had to go. We parted still friends, I think, I hope. We both left with a box of chocolates, compliments of the nuns of Saint Mary's Abbey.<br /><br />I went downstairs and there was Sheila Ray Charles standing up there in front of a roomful of entranced youngsters. All of them were aged 14 to 24, out of lock-up and in the Straight Ahead re-entry program.<br /><br />They listened as the daughter of Ray Charles told them how the world knew Ray Charles, but that she didn't; all her life, she didn't even know herself.<br /><br />"All I knew, " she said, "was twenty years of crack cocaine, five lost children, and going in and out of federal prison." <br /><br />She said that when she was drunk, "I didn't have to be me. I could be anything I wanted to be. I could escape the real me that I didn't like."<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vXyRQp4eHpY/UVY4eUa5XxI/AAAAAAAADjI/jGf1Tc3foiA/s1600/IMG_1470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vXyRQp4eHpY/UVY4eUa5XxI/AAAAAAAADjI/jGf1Tc3foiA/s320/IMG_1470.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />In her third stint in prison, however, she said that she discovered her true self, which was in Christ.&nbsp; "It was three in the morning and I had fallen off the bunk in my cell and I suddenly knew that Christ had come into my life and that it was going to change."<br /><br />When she got out of prison, she said that she asked God, "What do you want me to do?"<br /><br />He said, "Write your story. So I wrote my story."<br /><br />Then she asked God what she should do next. "He said take your testimony and put it to music."<br /><br />"What?" she said to God. "That's going to be a long story."<br /><br />But she wrote her song, "Behind the Shades."<br /><br />"Y'all want to hear it?" she asked her young audience.<br /><br />It was unanimous. Yes!<br /><br />Sheila Raye Charles started singing.<br /><br />"<i>There was nobody. Nobody to see me through. Somebody saved me. He came into my life and</i> ..."<br /><br />The young people loved the song -- and her message.<br /><br />Sheila Raye Charles then went upstairs to sing for a packed house eagerly waiting for her. I followed her up. Here's a video I took of her performance, accompanied by her brother Kevin.&nbsp;&nbsp; Click <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQ36Qput9ms">here. </a><br /><br />A shining beacon of hope as she sings,&nbsp; her message to&nbsp; young people fresh out of jail is a resounding, "I did it. You can, too!"<br /><br />So long and keep moving. <br /><br /><b> </b><br /><b>Amazon E-Books by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/George-Pollock/e/B004YJIR0I"><span style="color: #334477;">George Pollock</span></a></b><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7355574384503967" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XT6K3A"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">State Kid: Hero of Literacy</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is fiction based on his real-life experiences growing up in foster homes; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004H4XBZQ"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Last Laughs</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0055ED4KO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Killers</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison; "</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005EN0CRO"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">I, Cadaver</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006CRW9HM"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #000099; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">“A Beautiful Story</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life; <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007CHHIV8"><span style="color: #334477;">"A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"</span></a> is about how to live the title every day; and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005T5JHEQ"><span style="color: #334477;">"Unlove Story,"</span></a> Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><u><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></u></b><u> <b>&nbsp;</b></u><br /><u><b>For the Nook</b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>:</b></span></u></div><h2 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-beautiful-story-george-pollock/1107730632?ean=2940013539464" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Beautiful Story </span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-long-happy-healthy-life-george-pollock/1109325304?ean=2940013933965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">A Long, Happy, Healthy Life</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/i-cadaver-george-pollock/1104704085?ean=2940013197794" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">I, Cadaver</span></a><br /><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/killers-george-pollock/1103017625?ean=2940012924865" target="_blank"><span style="color: #334477;">Killers</span></a> </h2></div><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~4/-5rvNIKJWVw" height="1" width="1" alt=""/>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PatientsProgress/~3/-5rvNIKJWVw/sheila-raye-charles-gladly-does.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (georgepollock)0http://patientsprogress.blogspot.com/2013/04/sheila-raye-charles-gladly-does.html